


The Club

by Polkahotness



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Cancer, Mentions of Cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 14:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13273701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polkahotness/pseuds/Polkahotness
Summary: I never thought life without Olga would cause so many problems for me. After all, out of everybody I knew, I was probably the only one with just cause enough to want her gone. But now that she was, everything was up in the air, including my relationship with Arnold. Could a view from Mighty Pete shed light on what I'd lost? Or help me lose Arnold forever? COMPLETE





	1. Chapter 1

Silence filled the room; a muffled cough breaking the ice enough to make me realize everyone's eyes from the circle were on me.

 

Me.

 

“Uh...” I started shakily as the group leader pushed me on.

 

“Just start with your name, okay?” She said kindly- it was a genuine kindness, but still one that made me sick to my stomach.

 

It reminded me of _her_.

 

With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and said with as much false confidence as I could muster from the front of the circle at the wooden podium I’d been staring at moments earlier, “My name is Helga-Helga G. Pataki. I uh... I live here, obviously,” I said with a shake of my head while looking down at my hands and sighing. “And I'm here because... because I lost my sister last month to Breast Cancer and I think it's bumming me out. A little.”

 

I shook my head again as if I could erase all the memories inside my head that were flurrying around at the mention of what had happened.

 

“Well Helga, we're happy you are here with us,” the group leader cooed while putting an ice-cold hand on my shoulder blade; my body immediately jumping at it's temperature. “It's never easy to lose a loved one.”

 

“You got THAT right,” I mumbled to myself more than anyone else and reached up to wipe my hand over my damp cheeks.

 

 _Criminy, what a wuss..._ I thought to myself as I rubbed the wetness between my forefinger and thumb while my hand sat in my lap. _All over_ Ol _ga._

 

After everything she'd done to our family, after everything she had PUT us through... and I was CRYING. For HER.

 

I frowned and clenched my jaw as my hands curled into fists at my side. “You know what? I THOUGHT I needed this, but I have NOTHING to share, okay? Nothing. She’s dead and that’s that, so I guess-” I turned to leave the circle of widowed spouses, orphaned children and heartbroken friends who had all lost others in a similar fashion as I'd lost Olga.

 

Standing outside the circle, I spun around to face them again and said, “Thanks...but no thanks, alright? Maybe... maybe I'll see you all around, or something.”

 

And with that, I left the third group of sad sacks I'd been to that week and slowly began to trudge home.

 

As if they could help me, anyway.

 

...TO BE CONTINUED...

 


	2. One

_JUNE, FOUR MONTHS EARLIER_

 

“ _I wouldn't worry, baby sister-”_

 

“ _That's good,” I deadpanned while continuing to read my book, “because I'm not worried at all.”_

 

_I could see her twist to face me with that doe-eyed expression she uses on Miriam and Bob when she needs another ego-boost. “You-you aren't?”_

 

“ _Nope,” I said with a pop of my 'p' while finishing the page I was on and finally turning it to the next. “In fact, it's the furthest thing from my mind seeing as I have this here book I'm reading.” I stopped where I was on the page and set the book down open-faced onto my lap._

 

_Olga watched me for a moment; her eyes never straying from mine despite my countless gestures to my book which I was eager to get back to reading._

 

_Eager because it was a good book._

_Also eager because if I could just get BACK to reading it, Olga would go away and leave me be in peace with my solitude._

 

_Her expression changed; her lips raising to a weak smile and she nodded her head. “Al-alright, Helga,” Olga said softly before standing up and leaning over to kiss the top of my head (much against my will). “I'm sorry I bothered you.”_

 

_And with that, she made her way out of my room and softly shut the door behind her._

 

_Peace and quiet._

 

 

SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AFTER THE FUNERAL

 

If I had to eat ONE MORE finger sandwich the Wellington Lloyds had SO THOUGHTFULLY brought us a nearly WEEK ago, I was going to tear my tongue out and switch to a liquid diet.

 

Seriously.

The house was so full of bars and cakes and danishes of all varieties that the only food you could eat without getting gut-rot were those damned sandwiches.

 

And since nobody ELSE in this funeral-parlor-of-a-house was eating, I had consumed nearly two of the four trays of those tiny triangle-shaped turkey demons and my tastebuds could just take NO MORE.

 

Standing up from my bed I reached down to stretch my hands to my wiggling toes. I'd painted them with Olga while she was still in the hospital, though time was beginning the chip the pink lacquer covering each nail.

 

Once all the blood had rushed to my head, I closed my eyes and stood there hunched over until I couldn't take it anymore. Within seconds I shot myself back up to let the blood drain from my skull so it could race it's way back down to the rest of my body. My head spun and I kept my eyes closed as I swayed to and fro from the sensation of it all.

 

Flickering my eyes open, the world around me blurred until my eyes adjusted and I was at last back to normal.

 

Mostly normal.

At least as normal as Helga G. Pataki CAN be, I guess.

 

I reached my arms up to the ceiling then; my body elongating itself to as tall as it could go. Tilting my head back, I looked up to my hands which where reaching desperately for the drywall above. A tingling sensation trickled through my arms as I pushed myself higher until dropping them completely; my body feeling awake and rejuvenated from my sixth nap of the day.

 

I did this every time- it was something Olga had taught me when I was younger and didn't spend most of my time resenting her existence. In her goody-two-shoes-wisdom, 'it's important to wake the body up after _you've_ woken up so your body and your brain can work as one.'

 

 _Criminy, no WONDER she was always so bright and cheery all the time,_ I thought to myself as I approached my bedroom door and slowly reached for the handle.

 

I didn't want to see what was out there. Last time I left my room (which was two days ago might I add) I found a candlelight vigil in the front room with at LEAST fourteen people I'd never seen before- Big Bob leading them all in a tearful rendition of 'Amazing Grace' which he kept getting choked up during.

 

The whole thing was just... a little MUCH for me.

Although, not as much as it apparently was for Miriam.

 

Miriam, had checked herself in.

That's right.

She sent herself to some 'Home for Moms with Lost Children' or something. It sounded mostly like a rehab since the whole Olga-dying-thing had put Mom right back on the path of Alcoholism; a habit she had quit nearly a year ago thanks to Olga herself.

 

So nowadays, the house was mostly just me and Bob and whoever ELSE decided to stop by and gush about how much they missed Olga and blah blah blah.

 

It was JUST. TOO. MUCH.

 

Opening the door, I tiptoed out of my room and into the hallway. It was dark- no lights were on even though it was nearly seven o'clock. My guess was that Bob had fallen asleep on the couch with that framed picture of Olga he was always carrying around.

 

Slowly, I crept along the hallway in pursuit of getting downstairs; my feet instinctively stopping at the closed door closest to the steps.

 

Olga's room.

 

I stared at the door; the letters of Olga's name remaining where they had always been- on a plaque that was nailed to the middle of the door itself. I smirked as I inspected each letter that had faded through the years making the plaque look (in my opinion) tacky and childish. But that was Olga- always hopelessly sentimental and blindly stubborn any time someone went to take it down.

 

Now nobody ever would, that's for sure.

 

The house had become a tomb. Pictures of Olga's smiling face lined the walls that made up the hallway. As I walked, my eyes gravitated to each picture residing there, some familiar and some from things I hardly remembered; memories that weren't even mine. Before Miriam left for rehab, she'd spent HOURS one night redecorating the hallway and this was one of two times I'd really seen the work she'd done.

 

I only remember her doing this because she had kept me up ALL NIGHT with her drunken banging of nails into the walls and nonstop sobbing for which Miriam had become known for since Olga's death. She spent that night replacing EVERY picture and painting with Olga's smiling face as a constant reminder that she had once been alive.

 

Looking at the pictures now, they were only a constant reminder that she wasn't... at least not anymore.

 

Tearing myself from the pictures, I pushed myself on to walk down the stairs and swing around using the railing to look inside the living room.

 

Empty.

 

I shrugged and wandered to the kitchen; my stomach growling in the demand for some REAL food- something I probably couldn't give it given our inventory of junk food and triangles of bread and turkey.

 

It was there that I found him- Bob -sitting on the kitchen chair and leaning over to rest his head on the table; Olga's picture just beside him still gripped in his hand. It was a sight to see; the ONLY sight I'd seen for months although it HAD gotten worse since she was actually gone this time.

 

At least when she was in the hospital they could see her.

Now all he had were pictures and memories.

 

Oh, and trophies which he spent most nights mindlessly polishing and talking to.

 

And as much as I don't CARE for my dad or his annoying admiration for my sister, I DID feel bad for the guy. He'd lost the one thing he cared most for and everything that surrounded him were only shells of what once was and never would be again.

 

I walked over to where he was conked out and tapped on his shoulder. “Dad?” I asked quietly, his groans making him turn his head to the other side.

 

“O-Olga?” he mumbled and I sighed while dropping my hand from him to rest at my side.

 

“No dad, it's Helga,” I corrected him though he didn't seem to care. Deciding to continue instead of give up like I usually did, I tried again. “You uh... you wanna eat something? Or something?”

 

“Hmm?” He moaned; his eyes still shut where he half-lay on the kitchen table.

 

“We could go out... just you and me.” I reached up to scratch at my head and cleared my throat. “We could get ribs? Or...” his eyelids flickered open to reveal bloodshot eyes looking lazily up at me as I continued to talk mindlessly. “We could get take-out. I know we don't have coupons or anything...”

 

He sat up and swallowed while staring down at the picture he was holding. “You...you want food?” He asked me through a gruff voice.

 

I shrugged. “Yeah. I mean- I guess.”

 

“We have food here, little lady,” he said a little harsher this time though still keeping his eyes locked on Olga's permanent smiling face behind the glass of the frame.

 

“You can only survive on finger sandwiches and junk food for so long, dad. We BOTH could use-”

 

“You know what _I_ could use?” He suddenly shouted while turning around to look at me where I stood dumbfounded. “ _I_ could use my DAUGHTER back- your sister, OLGA,” he hollered while holding the picture up to me as if I'd completely forgotten who she was. “REMEMBER HER?”

 

Realizing this was a lost cause, I reached up to cross my arms over my chest and sighed. “Of course I remember her, DAD, you've never once let me forget who she was.”

 

“What's THAT supposed to mean? You disrespecting your SISTER?! Your DEAD sister!” He was irate now and he forced himself up from the table to loom over me where I stood looking up at him blankly.

 

“Not at all _Bob_ ,” I said calmly before breaking our eye contact to turn around and head for the front door.

 

I heard him take steps after me only to stop where the kitchen ended, “And just where do you think YOU're going?” He demanded as I opened the door and prepared to leave.

 

Just as I was almost gone, I stuck my head back in the doorway to look at him once more, “Away from this TOMB you've buried yourself in. Olga may be dead, but I'M not.” I shook my head angrily before huffing out a breath and muttering to myself as I shut the door, “I'm going to go get a burger or something...”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Slausen's was pretty empty given that it was a Friday night, which I didn't mind. There was something about the ambiance of being the only person in a dive-y burger joint that made me feel safe- safer than I felt at home anyways. The buzzing of the neon signs in the window meshed with the quiet music of the radio playing from the overhead speakers. Plates clanked in the back from being washed and put away and the smell of bleach wafted through the restaurant as the nightly cleaning began for the store's closers.

 

Closing time was definitely near but, thankfully for me, they weren't closed YET. Slausen's was the only sit-down restaurant open passed seven in this God-forsaken town and I intended to remain here until they kicked my sorry butt out.

 

I'd come here for that ambiance, the ambiance of a day almost through.

 

Well, THAT and their award winning burgers and malts.

 

But once the food was devoured and my stomach was satisfied yet again, and THIS time from something other than fancy-pants appetizers, I was left alone with thoughts and memories I'd been avoiding all day; all WEEK even.

 

Olga was gone.

ComPLETEly gone.

Not on vacation, not to Alaska to teach little Inuit children, not to anywhere.

Gone.

 

It was a strange sensation. All my life I'd wished just THAT, for Olga to disappear from my life for good and never bother me again. Yet, now that that wish had come true, I wasn't sure it was one I really should have made in the first place.

 

Olga was making my life more miserable than she ever had.

By her not being in the picture, my parents were even WORSE parents than they ever were. Miriam wasn't even AROUND anymore and Bob... Bob had become the new Miriam.

 

And me?

The memory of Olga was too much to handle. I was conflicted with guilt and shame and hurt and...other...feelings... that I didn't even know who I was anymore.

 

If I wasn't Olga's 'dear little baby sister'... then who WAS I?

 

 _RINGALINGALING,_ the bell atop Slausen's front door sang in it's high-pitched ring. Instinctively I turned to look and see who had entered only to frown at the realization of who it was.

 

Phoebe.

She'd found me.

_Dammit..._

 

“I thought I might find you here,” she squeaked while heading to the booth I had hidden myself in and soon sitting down in front of me. “I've been trying to contact you all day, Helga.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said with slight annoyance as I played with a stub of a fry and some excess ketchup.

 

“I'm surprised you've remained at home after...everything.” She murmured; her eyes glancing down as I continued to paint my plate with the ketchup and fry as my tools.

 

“It's not like I have much else I can do.”

 

“You could come stay with me... at my apartment.” She offered though I was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

 

“Not if Gerald is there.”

 

“But Helga-” She tried and I cut her off immediately.

 

“Phoebe, I don't need him and his attitude right now. I don't need a normal life because it isn't like I've even ever HAD one, okay? I'm...” I struggled to find the word, “I'm...”

 

Phoebe let out a breath and reached over to touch my hand as it stabbed the stubby fry into the plate. “You're mourning, Helga. Whether you like to admit it or not, it is a natural process of losing a loved one.”

 

Keeping my eyes away from hers, I shrugged and quietly said, “I'm not mourning, Pheebs,”

 

“You can deny it all you wish,” she countered, her eyes hot on me as I stared downward, “but you need somewhere to stay and given the circumstances-”

 

“WHAT circumstances?” I snapped while looking up at her though she only continued.

 

“-you really should distance yourself from such painful memories at this time.” Phoebe finished before patting my hand twice and returning hers to her lap.

 

“Painful? Pssh,” I faked while wiping my hand on my napkin. “The only thing PAINFUL about that house is my dad and HIS mourning. Pheebs- it's worse than it EVER was, I'm telling you.”

 

A small half-smile tugged on Phoebe's lips and she shrugged her small shoulders. “All the more reason to take some time to yourself until everyone has mourned properly and in their own, valid ways.”

 

I watched her for a moment; my eyes inspecting every detail that made up her facial expression before me.

 

“And if I DID come to stay with you?” I asked hesitantly with a slight tip of my head.

 

Her smile widened and she leaned in towards me, “I'd help you to the best of my ability in whatever you need.”

 

I nodded my head a few times while considering her offer. “Alright... alright, Pheebs. I'll bite. But on ONE condition.”

 

She raised her brow, “What's that?”

 

I reached over for my napkin and brought it up to wipe my face before gingerly setting it down beside me and then crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “I don't want to see Arnold. Not once.”

 


	3. Two

OCTOBER, ONE MONTH AFTER THE FUNERAL

 

“Yeah, well I'm glad to hear it's so nice there Miriam,” I said into the receiver with a sigh and an annoyed roll of my eyes.

 

Phoebe turned around and smiled from where she was seated on the couch with Geraldo who was mindlessly flipping through the channels AGAIN.

 

If I'd told the guy once, I'd told him a THOUSAND TIMES, there _is_ such thing as a guide. They even have a button in glow-in-the-dark paint for his laze-induced-pleasure but he insists that it ruins the 'television experience.' Whatever THAT means.

 

I smirked at Phoebe and made darting gestures with my eyes to Gerald before shaking my head back and forth a couple of times. She merely returned the smile and mouthed the words, 'Not a chance, Helga' before returning her attention to the flipbook of television programs Tall Hair Boy was still skimming through.

 

“Helga? Honey? You still there?” Miriam asked from the phone and I blinked my attention back to her while turning away from the TV.

 

“Sorry, yeah-yeah I'm still here.” I responded quickly.

 

“I wanted to know how Phoebe is. You've been staying with her and her little boyfriend, haven't you?”

 

I chuckled and reached to pull out one of the kitchen chairs so I could sit down. “Yeah, I have. Pheebs is fine. A bit of a neat freak but hey- who wasn't expecting that? And Gerald?” The television stopped changing channels for a moment and I knew he was listening for my next words. I turned to look back at where he was sitting and said with a smirk, “Gerald is a boob.”

 

I watched him shake his head minimally with a grin before resuming his fast forward through the channels.

 

“A boob?” Miriam asked in confusion but I shrugged my shoulders to myself and repeated it back to her.

 

“Yep. He's a boob, alright.” I reached over to pick an apple off the top of the fruit basket sitting on the kitchen table, the fruit a decoration for Pheebs and a buffet for Gerald and I. Taking a crunchy bite, I continued to talk as I chewed. “You hear anything from dad?”

 

Her end of the call got scratchy; the sound as if the phone itself were being switched from hand to hand and then back again before Miriam's panicked voice came back around. “Uh- Helga I uh-I got to go,” she scrambled and I sighed as I allowed her to continue struggling with this week's latest excuse. “It's just I forgot we were-uh-we're going outside to play volleyball soon and I said I'd be the first to serve...”

 

“Sure mom. You-you go have fun.”

 

“Hey Helga?” She asked, her voice clear and ringing in my ear.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I love you.”

 

I glanced around myself for a moment before mumbling, “You too, mom. You take care of yourself. Olga would want you to.”

 

“I know sweetie. I'll talk to you soon.”

 

The line dropped and I pulled the phone from my ear to look at the call time flash itself on the screen of my cellphone.

 

7 minutes, 56 seconds

 

Almost 8 minutes was usually our average time. Miriam called twice a week- Tuesdays and Thursdays -just to see how I'm doing which was more than I could say for Bob. He hadn't tried to talk to me since I moved out the day after Phoebe convinced me to crash with her. He seemed content to stay in that house alone with the ghost of Olga surrounding him.

 

Fine.

Good for him.

But I wasn't gonna be like him.

 

The LEAST he could have done was call mom BEFORE he sent over the divorce papers a couple weeks ago. Seems that Bob wasn't talking to anyone besides lawyers these days. That and probably Olga's trophies.

 

But Miriam took the whole thing pretty well, surprisingly. I mean sure, it definitely helps to be in a cozy environment chock full of doctors and 'gal-pals' as she calls them. Having all of that around has been helping her through it all and even got her back on track with being sober.

 

She was the poster child of being born-again. From addiction that is.

 

There was no telling what would happen once she got back, though.

 

Shoving my phone in my pocket, I walked over to the TV room and sat down cross-legged on the carpet just in front of the couch. “Decide on a channel yet, Tall Hair Boy?” I asked while taking another bite of my apple and leaning back onto my other hand.

 

“You know my process, Pataki,” he retorted with his eyes staying glued on the television. “I'll _know_ what I wanna watch when I _see_ what I wanna watch.” His voice was calmer than usual as if he had prepared himself for this conversation all day.

 

Probably because it usually happens at least once a day.

Like I said, if I'd told him once, I'd told him a THOUSAND times.

And today was no different.

 

“I will smack that remote RIGHT out of your hand if you don't pick something in the next FIVE SECONDS,” I threatened before chewing thoughtfully for a moment, swallowing my bite and then turning to look directly at him. “And don't tell me you can't find a good thing to watch in mere seconds when you can scroll through twenty channels in HALF that amount of time.”

 

Phoebe sighed and pushed herself off of Gerald where she had been laying. “Gerald, maybe we should let Helga pick what to watch tonight,” her words were more threatening than Phoebe usually used so I crossed my arms and shot him a confident glare.

 

“Yeah Gerald. Let Helga G. Pataki pick for once.” I repeated with a wink.

 

“Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh,” he said with a shake of his head, “I am NOT letting her win, Phoebe. She ALWAYS wins. This ain't her TV. This ain't her SPACE.”

 

“But Helga is our guest,” Phoebe reminded him and I offered a happy grin. “And I believe in being hospitable to our guests, don't you Gerald?”

 

He paused for a moment and glanced between myself and Phoebe. After a few more looks, he sighed dramatically and tossed the remote to me while standing up from the couch.

 

“Yeah alright Pataki, you win.” He made his way to the apartment door which startled Phoebe as he began to open it to leave.

 

“Gerald, where are you going?” She asked quizzically and he shrugged as he stood in the doorway.

 

“I'm going to see my best friend. Arnold? You might not remember him, do ya? Since he's never allowed around her anymore.” His eyes shot over to send me a nasty glare and narrow of his eyes.

 

“Gerald!” Phoebe scolded and I reached up to shoo her off.

 

“Let it go, Pheebs. He's just bitter cause I'm bro-blocking him or whatever.”

 

Gerald reached up to cross his arms tightly over his chest. “All I wanna know is WHY, Helga. What does Arnold have to do with anything, hmm? Crazy crush not over yet?”

 

Phoebe's eyes began to panic as she watched between the two of us who were too heated to stop where our conversation was clearly headed.

 

“No,” I defended loudly, “I just don't want him and his BIG nose field goal-ing himself into my personal tragedy, alright?”

 

He pursed his lips; the gears turning in his mind hiding under that enormous hair of his. Just as he was about to open his mouth, he stopped. Then, with a nod, he turned around and closed the door as he left.

 

Most nights went like this. The living situation hadn't been ideal- just as I figured it wouldn't be. Gerald and I are too much alike, as much as I hate to admit it, and we tend to butt heads at EVERY opportunity life throws at us.

 

And they're usually about _him_.

He knows I won't talk about _him_.

 

But _why_? What's with all the secrecy and hush hush about he-with-the-golden-hair-and-devastatingly-gorgeous-green-eyes?

 

Easy.

I knew what he was capable of and I wasn't falling for it again.

I wasn't going to fall in love with Arnold again. Not after the last time.

Not after I ran away from it all by my own choice.

Well... not MY choice. More like Olga's choice

Kinda.

 

My thought process was a little blurred from it all.

 

“Helga, I think it's time we discussed our present living conditions,” Phoebe said which pulled me back into reality. I pushed myself up from the floor and moved to sit beside her on the couch where Gerald had been sitting.

 

“Whattya mean? I think it's going just swell, Pheebs.” _Ha. Yeah right._

 

But I had to lie to her. I couldn't tell her the horrible truth that I hated living with the two of them and their lovey-dovey fresh-outta-high-school fairy-tale-worlwind-romance. I hated being around the two of them all the time with their relationship being thrown in my face- a relationship that I COULD have had if... if everything hadn't happened the way it did.

 

And besides all their ooey-gooey love affair, there a were a couple OTHER things that made living with them almost unbearable.

 

She was too clean. Her sheets had to always be nicely folded like we were in some hotel. The dishes could NEVER sit around- not even for a DAY. She was a crumb-nazi the way she attacked our floor with the loudest vacuum known to man. And Gerald? Don't even get me STARTED on tall hair boy. His strongest suit was that he was just too annoying. So much sass and hair-care. We were a trio that couldn't and _wouldn't_ last. But they had offered to help me out of Olga's tomb. They had encouraged me to get away from the gloom that painted that house's every wall and come live with them until I could get on my feet.

 

But I wasn't on my feet yet, that's for sure. So, if I didn't live with them, where would I go if the only other option was a home I didn't belong in anymore?

The whole moving-out-thing was all their idea...But the way this conversation was headed, I bet between the two of them... they just decided Phoebe should be the one to rip off the metaphorical band aid.

 

Phoebe. My best friend in the whole world was NOMINATED to kick me out of the home she invited me to live with her in the FIRST PLACE? She wouldn't do THAT to me...WOULD she?

 

She wiggled closer to me and took a meditative breath. “I believe it's time you go begin looking for your own place to live- possibly away from Hillwood.”

 

_Well. Guess she COULD do that, can't ya Pheebs? Hang your best friend out to dry?_

 

“Wait,” I played dumb as if I hadn't had the slightest inkling this was about to happen “You uh... you want me to move out? Just like that? _Why?_ ” I asked.

 

“You don't seem to be making much progress while living with us, Helga. And, to be rather honest with you, I don't believe Gerald and I can further our own relationship until you move on with your life.” Her words were so well thought out, I wondered how many times she'd practiced it on Gerald before finally delivering it here to me now.

 

“What? You and Geraldo wanna go tying the knot or something? Making babies? There ARE such thing as headphones, Pheebs. I won't go listening-”

 

“Helga it has nothing to do with Gerald and mine's sex life, it has to do with you.” She said bluntly and I widened my eyes slightly at her casual nature.

 

“You know,” I said, “I really AM doing just fine. It isn't like I need a job or anything. I could move out TOMORROW if you want. I got enough in the bank from-”

 

“Yes, Helga, yes,” Phoebe quickly said with a hand held in front of her to stop me. “Olga was very generous to leave you that large sum of money, however, I can assure you she wouldn't want you to use it as wastefully as early retirement followed by bankruptcy and eventual homelessness.”

 

I leaned back from her in shock. “Geez, Pheebs... that's pretty harsh-”

 

“Have you tried going to any of those support groups I mentioned to you? I think they could help you fully cope with-”

 

“There's nothing to cope with, Phoebe.” I stated loudly and firmly; my tone making her freeze immediately. “I'm just somebody who lost somebody else. That's it. It's nothing new OR special. Those last two groups you sent me to were LITERALLY just 10 people sitting a circle and whining about their lives- that's NOT ME. I don't need you, Geraldo, my family or ANYONE telling ME how to handle my feelings, got it?”

 

The apartment fell deadly to the sudden silence that succumbed us. Phoebe stared at me as I huffed through the anger that had just fueled my blind rage at her.

 

After a minute, Phoebe nodded her head shakily in defeat, “Of course Helga. I was only trying to help.”

 

I pushed myself from the couch to stand up and walk towards my 'room' which was basically a glorified closet. “I'm going to take a nap, okay Phoebe?”

 

 

I flopped onto the couch with my piping hot cup of Spicy Ramen and flipped open the screen of my laptop. Wincing at the bright light of the blank page electronically in front of me, I sighed.

 

There wasn’t much to write.

Wasn’t much to write except how much I despised nights like this.

 

It was windy- windy enough to blow over countless garbage cans in the neighborhood of Phoebe and Gerald’s apartment; their hollow echo adding to the ambiance of the empty evening outside the empty apartment.

 

Empty, that is, except for me.

Me and good old Lucy, my trust computer.

 

 _Well gee, that sounds like a pretty pleasant night to me, Helga,_ one might say but I can assure- nights like these were NEVER pleasant.

 

The wind made me shudder, even though I’d closed every window as tight as the gears would allow me. I don’t like being alone much anymore. Nights like tonight, when Geraldo takes my best lady out for a ‘date,’ I’m left by my lonesome in their love bungalow which is both sad and just a little creepy.

 

Sad because at 23 I should really have my own place by now.

Creepy because all around me are pictures after pictures of Gerald and Phoebe and their LIVES together and whatnot just STARING at me from every direction which makes the whole thing really feel like I busted into someone’s house just to snag some of their wifi.

 

Which, obviously, I DIDN’T.

DOI.

 

It was also nights like this, when I was alone that is, that thoughts crept in like unwanted house guests and laid claim to my brain.

 

_What is WRONG with you, Helga?_

_Why haven’t you said goodbye to Olga yet, Helga?_

_Why can’t you get yourself some HELP, Helga?_

And my own PERSONAL favorite, _When are you going to talk to Arnold again, Helga?_

 

All the questions swam in my skull like synchronized swimmers who had little practice and liked bumping into each other during the peels. It was messy inside my head, and no matter how many times I tried to sort through my thoughts, new ones emerged blocking out the other and I quickly found myself drowning in all the questions I had no answers to or any desire to answer to either.

 

This week’s questions quickly emerged at the forefront of my thought process as I stared at the illuminating blank screen ahead of me; ramen noodles sitting in their bowl on my lap:

 

_Are you REALLY going to give the whole ‘support group’ thing another shot?_

_And do you ACTUALLY think it would change Phoebe’s mind about you moving out?_

_Would it even HELP? Or would it just make you keep thinking about Olga which you CLEARLY don’t wanna keep DOING for the rest of your miserable existence?_

 

The cursor blinked back at me; beckoning for me to write something- ANYTHING down. The questions only loomed over me as I stared at the bright screen.

 

“Well, for starters,” I said to myself while spinning noodles around my fork in preparation to be shoved in my mouth. “I know if it were up to little miss perfect _Ol_ ga, I’d ALREADY be in a support group right now.”

 

I glanced down at the giant bite of noodles and brought it to my mouth to chew on as I continued talking to myself; more like talking to Lucy.

Lucy, after all, was the only thing in the whole world who knew who the REAL Helga G. Pataki was. It was that comfort that helped me spit out all the crazy thoughts and wild emotions I kept at bay inside the Pataki-Proof-Feelings-Chamber AKA, my lock-tight chest where the heart is held hostage.

 

It’s safer there.

Safer… for everyone.

 

“Actually- “I said as chunks of noodles spilled from my mouth and I tried to catch them with little success. Once I caught my breath, I finished, “I’m surprised she never had that as a stipulation in her WILL. The woman went to LAW school; you’d think she would have found a way to put in a couple of RULES for me to follow to get all that cash.”

 

Even though it wasn’t, really, ALL that much money.

Olga had saved a LOT of money throughout her life, and surprisingly, I’d gotten half of it.

HALF.

Good ol’ Ma n’ Pop each only received 15,000 and the charities- the charities got their long awaited payday.

 

So HOW did Olga achieve such status in her short 35 years?

Good question. WE had no idea.

 

“ _Holy Talito!” Bob exclaimed as he leaned back in his chair with his hands on his balding head. “THAT much?”_

 

“ _It looks as though that was her net worth, Mr. Pataki, yes.”_

 

“ _Well geez, who’d she leave it all to?” He asked next, probably assuming himself as a REWARD for all his perfection in the creation of his Perfect Olga._

 

_She WAS always a daddy’s girl._

 

“ _Looking at this here,” the lawyer said while thumbing through a few pages and finally pulling one out to show to us. “It looks as though she has left the majority of her money to Helga, her ‘baby sister.’”_

 

_My eyes widened and I leaned in to look where his knobby finger was pointing. Sure enough, my name was printed there in black and white plain as day- moniker included._

 

“ _A million dollars?”_

 

Needless to say, Big Bob was a little bitter that I inherited the most of her secret funds, but not as bitter as he was jealous. And surprised.

 

The only one who WASN’T surprised, was me.

Since she’d told me and all.

 

I blinked myself back to attention at my blackening computer which seemed to be giving up on my writing anything at this point. My ramen was already gone and my mind had nearly completely slipped off the edge. I needed something to help me focus- needed something to keep away all those questions begging to be answered that’d I’d rather ignore. Hell, at THIS point, I’d rather go listen to somebody ELSE’s problems than keep hearing my own spin round and round in my head.

 

 _It isn’t too late to go to the group, Helga,_ I could almost hear Olga nagging in my head. _Support groups are great ways to channel unwanted feelings and turn them into something positive that might help spark your creativity. You’ve always been so creative, Helga._

 

“Yeah, yeah, so I’m CREATIVE, big whoop,” I answered aloud, “what’s my creativity have to do with some group of crybabies in an elementary school gymnasium ANYway?”

 

My head fell silent; Olga’s voice abandoning ship so I had to deal with the answer MYSELF.

I glanced over at the flyer Phoebe had set on the coffee table in front of me before they left. She’d found THIS one outside the library on a corkboard and thought it sounded up my alley.

 

“Creative Circle,” I read aloud while picking up the wrinkled poster, “a group for support and encouragement towards the creative process of enlightenment.”

 

I rolled my eyes. _Criminy, someone worked REALLY HARD on searching through that thesaurus website to come up with THAT,_ I commented inwardly though forced a shrug while inspecting the poster.

 

“ _It’s only an hour long, Helga,” Phoebe whispered while setting down the paper in front of me. “Just think about it, okay?”_

 

_I smirked. “Thinking about it as we speak, Pheebs. But 3_ _rd_ _time is NOT always a charm, okay? I’m not going.” I pulled my laptop from where it had been charging on the floor and brought it to my lap._

 

“ _Okay, Helga. But don’t say I didn’t try.”_

 

“ _Wouldn’t DREAM of it, Phoebe,” I said blankly while turning on the computer and waiting for it to load._

 

_They waited briefly from behind me by the door before I heard Gerald mutter, “C’mon, babe, we’re gonna miss the bus,” and at last left me to my solitude for their weekly date night._

 

“Only an HOUR, huh?” I repeated out loud as the memory of a half hour ago faded into the oblivion.

 

One hour.

60 minutes.

5 minutes, 12 times.

30 seconds 120 times.

It’s really not all THAT long…

 

So on complete impulse and encouraging heartburn from the Spicy Ramen I’d just inhaled, I forced myself up off the couch in pursuit of another probable bad idea.

 

A bad idea endorsed by Phoebe Heyerdahl, Geraldo Whatshisname-o and my trusty dead sister herself, Olga.

 

Creative Circle, here I come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Three

Not gonna lie, I was starting to re-think the whole ‘listening to other people’s problems so I don’t have to think about my own’ idea.

Because that idea SUCKED.

Aside from the snacks of stale graham crackers, mediocre brownies (probably store bought), weird-tasting coffee and watered-down fruit punch, the “Creative Circle” was a bit of a pathetic sight.

And I mean that in the absolute best way possible.

I totally got what they were going for; that sort of artistic vibe mixed with self-help and positivity and support and all that other sort of mumbo jumbo but as HARD as they tried to make it inviting, I still wasn’t buying it. Half of me wanted to book it OUT of the church where it was being held in the lobby of, but Olga’s stupid sing-song voice was still a-chirpin’ in my head telling me to stick it out for HER.

All I wanted to do for HER was give her a good ole Helga G. Pataki thumping so she’d just move on from driving me insane every day since she’d been gone. Why couldn’t the woman just leave my head already??

Against my better judgement, I wandered toward the group of maybe 15 people who were sipping from Styrofoam cups and whispering their probable judgement at my new fishy-ness swimming into their pond. Each person chattered away to each other as they tried to stealthily look me over and guess why I’d walked in to their group in the first place.

Only ONE of them had the sense to come and TALK to me though, instead of gawking at me from afar. I guessed this person to be the leader of the group. She was tall- VERY tall; taller than ME tall. At her probable 6’ height, a waterfall of overly curly hair bounced down from her head to rest just below her shoulders. I watched as she took big steps toward me; the smile on her face both inviting and completely terrifying.

“Hello! Welcome!” She said cheerfully and I held my breath as she extended her arms out in hopes for a hug I was NOT going to reciprocate. Once she realized this, she slowly dropped them to clasp her hands in front of her waist and continued cautiously, “Are you here for Creative Circle?”

 _Run, Pataki- run! This is your only shot at leaving this madhouse!!_ My inner smarts hollered at me but the looming of Phoebe wanting me to make ‘progress’ mixed with Olga’s voice telling me to stay, I merely froze and nodded my head silently.

“Excellent! Well, it’s great to have you join us! We love new members!” _Oh God… what did you get yourself INTO??_ I inwardly responded but followed as she wrapped a sturdy arm around my shoulders and began guiding me to the hub of the other group members. “Come join us- we were just about to start sharing time.”

_SHARING time? What are we? In PRESCHOOL?_

With a smile, nod and a point to an empty chair, I left the arms of the overly-willing leader and took my seat where she’d directed me. As I did that, she scurried her way to the front of our circle of plastic chairs to a beaten-up wooden podium where her apparent notes sat waiting to be read to our little ‘class.’

“Hello everyone! Nice to see so many new faces in the bunch!” She greeted while looking out to the group who were slowly making their way to an open seat while juggling their complimentary food and beverages. “Today’s Creative Curveball as we call it- our soothing exercise -will be adult coloring which we’ll begin after sharing time back at the tables by the refreshments.” She gestured a hand back behind where we were seated and a few curious eyes (mine included) followed to see where she was talking about.

On a foldout table surrounded by more closely-placed foldout chairs was a stack of paperback books with various designs on them. Toward the bottom of the stack were some regular coloring books I recognized from the local drug stores- Kittens at Christmas, Superheroes and an off-brand Princess book with its cover missing.

“Oh brother,” I muttered to myself before twisting back around to face the podium; crossing my arms as I did so.

“Since I see so many new people, let me just go over how Creative Circle works before we get started, alright?”

 _Here we go…_ I mentally prepared myself while leaning back in my chair to watch our leader with skeptical eyes.

“My name is Lisa,” the woman said- a name now attached to her face and overwhelmingly bouncy curls, “I started this group after my twin sister passed away from a car accident with a drunk driver.” She nodded her head slowly while clearly choking back tears. After a sniffle, she offered a small smile and continued. “I found that the grieving process was helped by creative outbursts I had in mourning my sister, Olivia. Things such as coloring like we’ll do today, writing, and even simply listening to music helped to soothe my soul and it was through that I decided to start Creative Circle- a support group where we can share our feelings and work through them by utilizing various creative highways like crafts and other activities.”

I glanced around at the others sitting with me in the circle. Each one varied in age, though the majority of the group were in their late forties to early fifties. Most of us were women, though two men sat with us- the eldest of our group. Each pair of eyes watched Lisa tiredly as if every person in the circle had had a long and exhausting day. I found myself wondering if I looked the same as them; the thought alone making me stiffen up in my seat in hopes I could appear stronger than I probably came across.

“Each meeting,” she said as she looked out to each and every one of us- her eyes seeming to linger on me, “I like to begin with a sharing time where we can individually get up and share either something that was hard recently or something we did well to help ourselves as we grieve; for those of you newbies, perhaps your story and why it is you’re here.”

 _Ha. THAT’S a laugh,_ I smirked to myself. I wasn’t a newbie. Maybe to the Creative Circle I was, but I was certainly not unfamiliar with the support group scene.

I’d been to two other support groups since Olga had died.

And both of them, to be honest, sucked. As in they sucked the LIFE out of you the MOMENT you walked in the doors.

Support groups have this THING about them- a vibe, an aura, whatever you wanna call it -it’s the feeling of having your soul sucked right out of you for every moment you’re stuck among all the sad-sacks and pairs of bloodshot eyes stained rain from perpetual tears.

Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t like I don’t feel BAD for the people here. In the end, we’re all here for the same thing- some kind of ‘support’ that we can’t find anywhere else, so we form a ‘group’ to talk about our feelings and it’s supposed to make us BETTER, right?

Maybe in Phoebe’s world but we Patakis don’t DO well with help.

In all my experiences, any time help has been offered, I’ve ran as far away from it as possible. Accepting help is weakness in the lowest of forms. Dear old dad taught me THAT one.

But there was something about the Creative Circle that felt different than the other two groups I’d been to. This group was quiet and very shy. That atmosphere of cloudy heartbreak wasn’t as thick in the air around me and it almost made me… it almost made me…

My eyes blinked rapidly as I tore myself from the thoughts beginning to swarm my head. With a sigh as if to restart my system, I refocused my eyes ahead to where Lisa was finally finishing her pre-meeting speech.

“Seeing as there are so many of you here that are new,” she said with a smile and small clap of her hands, “I think we should go ahead and have Carrie over here-“ she gestured to a red-haired lady sitting close to her who was smiling more to herself than anyone else “-kick start us off with her story and maybe that might encourage the rest of you to get up and share before we begin our activity for the night. Carrie?”

The woman stood up shakily while grabbing her nearby cane to help her. Wobbling, she made her way to the podium where she smiled out to everyone before clearing her throat and beginning.

“Hello I’m-I’m Carrie, I’m 46 years old, and I’ve been coming to support groups with Lisa here since both of our sisters passed away in very different ways.”

Carrie went on to talk in depth about her sister Maggie who had died from breast cancer when she was 33. I found that at the word ‘cancer’ I began to tune Carrie’s words out- my eyes staring blankly at the front of the podium where I instead studied the wood’s design until my eyes couldn’t take it anymore. Closing them softly, a nudge from beside me made my eyes flutter open to look at who was trying to get my attention.

“Bored?” My neighbor whispered to me while keeping her eyes ahead at Carrie who was holding up a picture now for the group to see.

I shrugged my shoulders and leaned back in my chair to look back ahead to the podium. “Nope.” I said matter-of-factly, though she didn’t buy it.

“Creative Circle is kind of a snooze-fest,” She said while glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

Deciding I didn’t care if I got kicked out or not, I turned to look at the girl talking to me and raised a brow. “Than why are you here?”

The group began to clap signaling I should do the same though I only offered a few lazy gulf claps. Lisa returned to the podium and looked out to us as we stared at her.

“Such an inspiring story. _Thank you,_ Carrie, for sharing. Maggie would be proud.”

Carrie set her hand over her heart with a nod before Lisa continued- this time in search for a new sharing time victim. “Anybody else want to share their story? Why it is you’re here tonight?”

With a grin, I commented to the girl beside me, “How ‘bout you? You seem just dying to partake in story time.”

The girl shook her head with a nearly silent tsking of her tongue. “Sad to think, as boring as this thing is, that you only see it as some kind of theatrics.”

I rolled my eyes, “Theatrics? Please.” One of the men stood up and walked to where Lisa was standing to tell his story- though I wasn’t paying much attention, my focus instead on the girl I was still talking to beside me. “I’ve been to enough of these things to know what they’re all about, okay?”

My neighbor remained silent as the man began to talk about his wife who’d died from a bad case of pneumonia a few years back. After a few minutes of his story, the girl whispered over to me, “So you’ve shared before then?”

“Ha,” I laughed quietly to myself and then slowly began to shake my head as I whispered back, “I’m not a big sharer of my feelings.” I shrugged and listened for a moment as the man continued to talk. I then smirked and shrugged again- “S’not really my THING,” I finished.

The group clapped again and I joined the crowd in their fake applause at the man’s bravery to talk. As he walked to sit back in his seat, my neighbor (who was becoming increasingly annoying at this point) tilted her head my way and whispered, “You sure you aren’t just scared?”

My whole body tensed at her words. Scared? “Scared?” I repeated louder than I’d anticipated and a few curious eyes looked my direction. “I am NOT scared, okay? I just have nothing I wish to say to a group of strangers in a church basement, thankyouverymuch.”

The girl smirked and continued to look at me from her tilted head. “I’m not so sure… I think you just came for the free coloring.”

 _What was this chick’s PROBLEM?!_ Of all the support groups I’d gone to, THIS one was taking the cake. Who just harasses people when they show up? SHE doesn’t know why I’m here. Hell, I’m starting to think _I_ don’t even know why I’m here because CLEARLY it was a mistake.

Just as I was shaking my head and standing up to leave, Lisa and her cheery, stupid, chipper attitude nearly LUNGED at me in excitement at my volunteering to talk.

See, apparently, while crazy craze weirdo beside me was ridiculing me for not talking, Lisa was asking for volunteers to share next. And, genius that I am, stood up at that EXACT moment.

Sure, I tried to wrangle my way out of Lisa’s grip, but she only kept telling me that it was okay to be nervous because they all had been when THEY shared for the first time.

“Lady, lady look I don’t wanna share, I was-“ I tried but I was already at the podium and staring out to the curious eyes around me.

And among the crowd?

That girl. That girl was STARING at me with a sick smile on her face. Like this was ALL in her plan. I’d have to remember the give her a piece of my MIND later- maybe introduce her to good ole’ Betsy and her Five-

Someone coughed in the room- its echo pulling me from my thoughts to remember all the eyes now focused on solely me at the front of the room.

“Uh...” I started shakily as Lisa only pushed me on.

 

“Just start with your name, okay?” She said kindly- it was a genuine kindness, but still one that made me sick to my stomach.

 

Sick to my stomach, because it reminded me of _her_.

 

My memories began to flurry behind my eyes; memories from every age clouded my judgement and the walls I held so high started to fade away.

 

The weakness was setting in.

 

I could feel the weakness swimming in my veins and trying to overtake me. It bubbled up in my throat; my heart rate rising higher and higher as the weakness grew. Within moments, split-seconds, words were coming from my mouth and there was no stopping them anymore. 

 

“My name is Helga-Helga G. Pataki. I uh... I live here, obviously,” I said with a shake of my head while looking down at my hands and sighing.

 

 _What are you DOING, Helga?_ _You don’t know ANY of the people. WHY are you TALKING to them?!_

 

 “I'm here because... because I lost my sister last month and I think it's bumming me out. A little.”

 

I shook my head again to stop the memories in their paths; Lisa’s voice helping to bring me back to reality again.

 

“Well Helga, we're happy you are here with us. It's never easy to lose a loved one,” she said

 

“You got THAT right,” I mumbled to myself more than anyone else and reached up to wipe my hand over my damp cheeks.

 

 _Criminy, what a wuss..._ I thought to myself as I rubbed the wetness between my forefinger and thumb while my hand sat in my lap. _All over_ Ol _ga._

After everything she'd done to our family, after everything she had PUT us through... and I was CRYING. For HER.

 

And THEN, there was that STUPID girl. This was all HER fault! I was PERFECTLY content just coming to this stupid thing, listening to what they had to say, and then going back home to Phoebe and saying I tried it but it wasn’t for me. But TALKING?! I hadn’t PLANNED on talking! And crying…

 

_Cripes, I’m so weak…_

 

At the realization of what I’d become, I frowned and clenched my jaw as my hands curled into fists at my side. “You know what? I THOUGHT I needed this, but I have NOTHING to share, okay? Nothing. She’s dead and that’s that, so I guess-” I turned to leave the podium; the eyes of all those still in the circle following me as I tried to stalk away from this waste-of-a-night.

 

Just as I was a few feet away, I spun around to face them all again and finished my sentence. “Thanks...but no thanks, alright?  Maybe... maybe I'll see you all around, or something.”

 

And with that, I left the third group of sad sacks I'd been to that week and slowly began to trudge home.

 

As if they could help me, anyway.

 

I was lost. I was a basketcase! I had become a SLAVE to Olga’s wake which she’d left behind the MOMENT she got that tumor. It was all OVER after that and I was just another victim to it. I was the OTHER victim of that stupid mass, only I’D lived through the damn thing.

 

I took big steps as I walked the street- a rumbling in the sky forewarning that of my usual walking-buddy: Rain. Within minutes, small drops began to fall from the sky and by the time I’d reached the end of the block, the drops had turned into a full-blown pour. It was hard to see in front of me; the rain slapping on the cement so loudly I couldn’t even hear my own feet as I began to run in the direction of home.

 

I was completely drenched by the time I got back to the apartment but I couldn’t enter the building. I stared ahead at the stoop and allowed the rain to freely fall on me as I stared; my jaw dropped at what was blocking my way to getting inside and away from the rain.

 

It was an umbrella- a dark grey umbrella that was blocking my way. And under that umbrella was none other than footballhead himself; his smile guilty as he sat on the stoop. “Helga,” he called out to me through the slapping of the rain, “Helga, I HAVE to talk to you. Please.”

 

Pursing my lips, I swallowed the lump in my throat before shaking my head and immediately turning on my heel to walk away from him as fast as I could.

 

I was NOT doing this.

Not today.


	5. Four

“Helga! Helga, wait!” Arnold called after me as I walked away from where he’d been freakishly sitting on the apartment’s stoop… WAITING for me.

 _I can’t believe him. I can’t BELIEVE this kid!!_ I thought to myself as the rain continued to pour down on me.

“Helga, could you just slow down?”  

_First that girl at that stupid group, and now him? What was WITH today ANYWAY!_

“Helga! Helga, where are you even going?” He was following after me now and finally I stopped walking to spin around and look at him through the rain as I shivered slightly.

“Away. From you.” I enunciated carefully so he wouldn’t mistake my words for something else. “But you couldn’t figure that out, now could ya football-brains?”

The downpour finally let up to a soft but steady rain and I merely shook my head at Arnold and turned back around to continue walking aimlessly down the puddled street.

I couldn’t believe he was following me. Heck, I couldn’t believe he was trying THIS HARD just to talk to me. I mean, I knew he was still into me and all but as much as I loved him I couldn’t give in. I KNEW that I couldn’t have everything I ever wanted in being with Arnold because I was well aware of the consequences of being happy and let me tell you, they aren’t great.

“Helga,” he said my name again while following closely behind me. Even after all this time and everything that had happened as of late, my stomach still scrunched up in tight knots at the sound of my name falling from his sweet lips. “Helga, I just want to talk to you.”

“What’s there to talk about, Arnold?” I muttered while approaching the stoplights of an intersection and I reached out to press the button so the lights would change and I could walk across.

Cars sped past us; their speed through the puddles and rain splashing up onto me and my face which I didn’t care enough to wipe off. A moment of silence fell between us; the rain the only sound I could focus on. Soon, water stopped splashing on my head and I looked up to see Arnold’s familiar umbrella shielding me from the rain like it had seemingly so many times before.

“What about us?” He said softly and I turned to look at him as he held the umbrella over us. His eyes locked with mine as he said with a serious look on his face- it was a seriousness laced with a sick sort of sympathy I hate seeing from others when they look at me. “Your sister? How she… you know,” he trailed off and I shook my head.

“Died?” I said blankly. “You can say the word, Arn _oldo_ because it is what it is. She DIED.” The lights of the intersection flashed from red to green out of the corner of my eye and a white hand popped up where the red X had previously been, signaling it was time for me to cross the street.

Our eyes remained on each other for a moment before I scoffed and turned to walk away from his umbrella and pathetic yet beautiful green eyes. “Give it a rest, Arnold,” I called out after him as I walked across the crosswalk; Arnold jogging right along after me.

“Me, Helga?” He asked astounded, as if the concept was hard for him and his bulbous head to grasp. “What about you?”

“What ABOUT me?” I asked while focusing my attention ahead as I stepped up on the curb to the next block of sidewalk.

“Why have you been avoiding me? I thought…”

“HA!” I laughed while tossing my head back but continuing to walk forward. “NOW you’ve got me curious- what was it you thought, Arnold? Hmm?”

“I thought….we had something.” He swallowed hard- I could tell he was nervous about what he was saying. “I thought-“

“Well you thought wrong, bucko,” I said quietly while stopping in my footsteps; my arms still crossed over my chest. “I just used you when I needed you. That’s all.”

He seemed to think on this for a moment and just as I began to give up and start walking once more, he let out with what he’d clearly been wanting to say this whole damn time. “Is that why you haven’t talked to me since the funeral?” He paused as if he’d been picking through my brain and just found something of great importance. “…Or is it because I remind you of everything that happened with Olga and her tumor?”

I blinked through a mix of rain and tears as the memory flooded itself back to me; the rainwater continuing to stream down my shell-shocked face where I stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk.

_I couldn’t believe the turnout; it was a wonder this church could fit so many sobbing people at once._

_I always knew Olga would go out with a bang. I always knew that when she eventually died, her funeral would be filled with dozens upon dozens of flowers and hundreds, no, THOUSANDS of mourners sobbing at their tragic loss in that of my sister’s death._

_I just never thought it’d be before she had the chance to hit forty. Or get married. Or have perfect little angel children for my parents to fawn over. Olga never got to do any of that stuff like she’d wanted to do._

_And now she never would._

_I sat in the pew at the back of the church trying to avoid the well-wishers and complete saps at all costs. The past week had been filled with phone calls at all hours of the night, more blackout nights for Miriam, and endless cards- I didn’t know HOW word got around so fast._

_But I guess when you’re as PERFECT and LOVED and practically WORSHIPPED like Olga, your death would be a pretty big story among your fans._

_And from all the people walking into the church, it appeared that Olga had even more fans than I’d ever even realized._

_There were classmates; nearly her entire graduating class had shown up to say goodbye to their valedictorian. Many of her past teachers even showed up; each one boasting of how great a student she was when she was in their class. Olga had plenty of ‘close friends,’ each one telling story after annoying story of all the positive influence she’d had in their lives- how she’d ‘changed’ them and it was a ‘devastating loss’ like they had been the MOST affected by her dying._

_Yeah, right. I think THAT award goes to ME, and I have a few good reasons for why_ I _deserve it over my numbskull parents or anyone ELSE for that matter._

_Let’s start with A.) Olga’s death has brought about all these long-lost Pataki relatives that I am not thrilled about hanging out with all day. They plague the house and have for the past MONTH. Where were they FOUR months ago? Where were they when I was shaving Olga’s head for the surgery that did absolutely NOTHING in regards to that tumor?_

_I know. They were off living happily without Olga in their lives and now- now that she’s DEAD, now that she really IS gone -they’re mourning her loss._

_As if her existence ever MATTERED to them._

_As if her life ever DIRECTLY AFFECTED them constantly day in and day out like she did my life._

_Which brings me to point B.) Since she died, my parents pay even LESS attention to me than ever before. While I never thought this was possible, or that I even WANTED my parents’ affections anymore after not having them for so long, it’s a very real thing since Olga got sick. Nowadays, I don’t even get referred to as Olga more or less called by my actual name._

_Since Olga died, it’s like I never even EXISTED. The favorite daughter is dead- which apparently means the other one is dead too; just minus all those pesky flowers and inconvenient mourning._

_AND finally- saving the best reason for last -C.) I…I miss her._

_Yeah, that’s right, I MISS her. I MISS her and her stupid little miss perfect routine; her spectacular fantastic and Disney Princess-esque lifestyle. As much as I hate to admit that THE Olga Pataki GOT to me… she did._

_And NOW she was ruining EVERYTHING. Or rather, making ME ruin everything._

_See that’s the thing about us Patakis, we don’t like to FEEL things that strongly and the things I’ve been feeling as of recent have been hard to handle; so I just eliminated one of them._

_Well, both of them._

_Well, I was TRYING to anyway._

_I figure, if I can push Arnold away from me- a CLEAR violation of my TRUE feelings -I can just hurt myself over something I was pretty used to feeling anyway; Arnold not being with me and all. That feeling? That heartache? That intentional throbbing in my chest? THAT could then block out all those OTHER weird feelings I THOUGHT I was feeling now that Olga was gone and?_

_Baddabing baddaboom- no more feelings. I’d cracked the code._

_Or at least I THOUGHT I’d cracked it._

_“Hey Helga,” Arnold whispered from beside me where he’d apparently slid into while I was lost in thought._

_I nodded once while looking ahead and sighing out, “Hey Arnold.”_ Keep it together, Helga old girl, _I told myself; my heart resilient in its sick plight to destroy itself by pushing out the one thing I wanted most: Arnold’s love._

_“You uh…” he cleared his throat and I could see him straighten his tie out the corner of my eye. “You haven’t called since Tuesday,” he said quietly; his eyes focused ahead rather than on me._

_“Yeah, well, my sister kinda just died so…….” I dragged the word out while blinking a few times to stop the sudden stinging in my eyes._

_“I know and I’m really,_ really _sorry, Helga,” he tried while twisting to face me but I merely stayed staring ahead at the sea of black seated in the front pews for the upcoming service._

_Olga’s service._

_Her funeral service._

_As in for the dead._

_Which Olga was now…I guess._

_“It’s fine, Arnold,” I said with a slight shake of my head. “I’m not gonna be a complete jerk to you today.”_

_He paused for a moment as if waiting to see if I’d continue. After I didn’t, he nodded his head and turned away from me again. “Uh, th-thanks but-“_

_“But nothing,” I said flatly with a small shrug. “My family, we,” I coughed slightly before taking a deep breath to force out the words I was trying to pretend I wasn’t about to say to the love of my life. “My family thanks you for the-the HELP you’ve given since Olga got, well, you know.”_

_Arnold turned to look at me; confusion staring back at me through his crystal clear emerald eyes. “Helga, I don’t think I understand what you’re saying…”_

_“I’m saying that,”_ C’mon, you can do this, _I told myself,_ it’s for the greater good. You HAVE to do this. _“I’m saying that you can stop pitying me and my lame-brain family and just focus on yourself for now, okay?”_

_The words flew out of my mouth; each one running into the next as I spoke them at rapid speed. I at last turned to look at Arnold who stared at me with sad eyes._

_I could already tell that that football-headed weirdo knew EXACTLY what I was up to._

_But he played dumb and nodded his head. “I will,” he said slowly, “if that’s what you want.”_

_“That IS what I want,” I said far too quickly and inwardly beat myself over the head._

_“You don’t have to do this, Helga,”_

_“Arnold, don’t make this harder than it is,” I begged but he continued to watch me; waiting for me to give up. Waiting for me to feel things I didn’t want to feel. Waiting for me to decide if I’d allow myself to be happy in this the Pataki Tragedy._

_“It’s just that I really, I really li-“_

_“STOP,” I nearly shouted and a few mourners turned around to see who was shouting. “Just stop, Arnold.” I demanded through a stage whisper and twisted my body around to face Arnold completely. “This is NOT the time OR the place to do this right now, okay? I am in NO mood to try and-and figure out FEELINGS and get all sentimental about stuff. I have a drunk mom to take care of and a completely lost dad who doesn’t even REALIZE he still has another daughter left on this planet. I have my plate FULL right now and you and your giant head can just stay OUT of it. It’s MY business, they’re MY feelings and just because you kissed me doesn’t mean a damned thing, got it?”_

_I didn’t realize how close I’d inched in Arnold’s face until the words had stopped free-falling out of my mouth. I was mere millimeters from his face and he stared back at me with as much sincerity as I’ve ever seen. Pursing his lips, his leaned away from me and nodded more to himself than anyone._

_Quietly, he said, “Okay, Helga. I’ll… I’ll leave you alone.” He reached out to use the back of the pew ahead of him to stand up and began to walk away from me. After a few steps, he turned around to look at me once more. “But I’m leaving you alone on your terms, not mine. Just because I leave you alone- it doesn’t mean anything changes. For me.” He swallowed hard for a moment. “I just need you to know that,” he finalized before finally turning around again and leaving me alone._

_It was in that back pew that I cried for the first time EVER over Olga. It was back in that pew where I was alone that I was finally able to let out all that emotion I’d been feeling since this all began months ago._

_And it was in that back pew that I LEFT all those emotions- including the ones about Arnold and me and that kiss -because back there they were safe…. Unlike with me._

_Emotions like that? They could NEVER be safe with me; not Helga G. Pataki._

I stared out through the rain and blinked rapidly as water flooded my eyelashes and dripped down onto my cheeks; my mind blinded from the memory I’d tucked away to hide from and never revisit again.

Yet here I was with Arnold behind me making me all emotional…again.

And in the RAIN no less.

“Helga?” Arnold called out again and I instinctively spun around at the sound of my name being called.

“Look, Arnoldo,” the words came out easily and I let them flow without thought as I stared at him. “Maybe you didn’t HEAR me the last time we had a little chat, but I don’t want to you to come after me this time, okay? I have nothing to talk to you about; especially us.”

“Besides us, Helga,” Arnold immediately replied, “I like to think of myself as your friend, even when you’re calling me names and AS your friend, you can talk to me. You have to have something to say since she’s died.”

I thought for a moment at his words, each one piercing me like little pins under my skin.

Of COURSE I had things to say about Olga’s death. Of COURSE I had feelings I wanted to voice and things I needed help figuring out and who BETTER to navigate those choppy and uncharted emotional waters than a football-headed softie? Arnold was the BEST choice I could have at figuring out all the craziness I’d been thrust in to but I couldn’t allow myself to give in.

Because deep down inSIDE those feelings, the feelings within my feelings, were feelings about that football-headed softie and I couldn’t confront those; not now.

Not after everything that’s happened.

I had to do this alone.

So with much disdain I bit my lip and with a shake of my head I turned back around to continue my merry way down the sidewalk away from Arnold.

But the kid just WOULDN’T give up. “Helga!” He called out after me while jogging through the puddles that filled the divots in the sidewalk. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but sometimes that’s what you need to do to move on,” He explained himself once catching up to walk just beside me while matching my quick pace.

I scoffed, “Oh yeah?” I asked with mock interest before scowling again and keeping my eyes forward. “Well, not me.”

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“Because I just DON’T, CRIMINY, can’t you take a _hint_?” My tone was acidic but Arnold kept pushing; a new habit of his since I first told him about Olga and her sickness.

“Helga,” Arnold said softly after a moment of speed walking by my side, “Helga- you aren’t _ashamed_ of how she died, are you?”

I rolled my eyes and rounded the corner of the block we were walking on. “Ashamed? You think I’m ashamed, huh?”

Arnold followed around the corner with me and quickly jogged back up to me with his pesky umbrella still held high above him; attempting to cover me as well. “It doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t,” he said through mild labored breathing at his impromptu workout with me in the cold rain “because there isn’t anything to be ashamed of in how she died.”

Completely fed up with Arnold and his goody-goody-emotionally-invested-pep-talks I frowned and exclaimed, “I’m not ashamed that Olga had BRAIN CANCER, alright?”

“Then what are you?” He pressed; though his voice was calm despite my blow up.

I stopped in my tracks, “I’m sick of you interrogating me, THAT’S what I am.”

“Helga-“ he scolded in that sexy-yet-incredibly-comforting tone of his.

“Fine! Fine,” I reluctantly agreed while throwing my hands up in the air and walking away from him to sit on the curb of the sidewalk. “You wanna know what I’m SO ashamed about, DOCTOR Arnold?”

With a small smirk at the nickname, he walked over to sit by me on the curb; the rain slowing above us as he did so. “Why’s that?”

“Because maybe,” I started before taking a big breath and letting it out while softly shutting my eyes, “Maybe I just I’m a little… _jealous_ she was the one with the tumor.”

It felt good to let the words out. Granted, they weren’t COMPLETELY and accurately described and I probably would have done a lot better with a pen and paper but to SAY them out loud… it made my shoulders a little less tired.

At least, until GENIUS decided to start talking again.

“Helga,” he said rationally, and I turned to look at him and his worried eyes staring back at me, “are you saying…you wish _you_ had been the one to die?”

 _Great…_ I thought to myself; immediately seeing where he was headed with this. _Now he’s gonna think you’re LOONEY tunes, ya big oaf!_

“Arnold-“ I tried to stop him before he could go any further but he was already talking at 100 mph.

“-because if you’re suicidal, you know there are people who are trained to help you-“ he managed out and I turned to face him while smirking.

“C’mon, Arnold,” I said skeptically but he was determined to finish out his schpeel no matter WHAT I had to say.

“-even though you aren’t…interested…in me anymore or whatever is going on between us-“

“SERIOUSLY, Arnold?” he was pulling out ALL the big ones for this pep-talk; not that I couldn’t blame him. I realized what I’d said maybe hadn’t come across the way I’d intended.

I mostly realized this because he wouldn’t stop.

“-I want you to know that I wouldn’t want you to take your own li-“

 _That’s it, I can’t take it anymore,_ I thought loudly before reaching out and grabbing his shoulders to shake him enough so he’d stop talking and actually LISTEN to me.

“Arnold!” I shouted while I held him in my grip; his face inches from mine, “I’m not going to KILL myself, alright?!” I let go of his shoulders which were probably bruised by now and instead pushed myself up to stand and run a hand through my soaking-wet and hopelessly tangled hair. “Criminy!” I cursed while walking away from Arnold to head in the direction of a childhood destination I didn’t realized we’d ultimately reached.

_Mighty Pete._

I stared up at the tree in all its glory; its leaves glistening from the falling rain as it drizzled down from the sky. Hidden in its branches lay the old treehouse; the wood long faded and worn from years of wear and tear though hardly anyone visits anymore.

Since we’d abandoned the treehouse when we were 8th graders, it’d remained virtually untouched; a silent memento hidden from sight among the crowd.

Mighty Pete had always been _ours_ ; there whenever we needed him.

And right now? I needed him.

I walked into the grass leading to his trunk, my feet squishing with each step I took; Arnold now standing on the sidewalk as he watched me.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said as I walked away from him “it’s just, you said-“

“I KNOW what I said,” I retorted once I’d finally reached the familiar planks of wood nailed to the trunk that we’d used so many times before as stairs up to our tree-palace above, “and I ALSO know I didn’t say I wanted to KILL myself, now did I?”

Arnold shoved his free hand into the pocket of his jacket and looked at me sheepishly. “Well, no,” he stuttered while looking down at his feet, “but you-“

“I don’t want to kill myself, Arnold,” I said seriously while eyeing him from across the way. “It isn’t…. it isn’t LIKE that,” I settled on the words; their ambiguity seeming to explain just how I was feeling to a ‘t.’

After a moment, he looked up at me and blinked a few times before taking a step towards me and asking quietly, “then what is it like?”

I watched him inch towards me as if I were some jungle cat ready to pounce though I remained calm as if to mirror Arnold’s expression directly back at him.

I wanted to tell him.

I wanted to steal him away and tell him all the feelings I’d locked up inside of me since this began. But he’d BEEN there. Heck, he’d been more supportive than anyone else who’d ‘been there’ in Olga’s death and he didn’t even REALIZE it.

Arnold thought I wanted to kill myself?

Oh no. Arnold was the reason I HADN’T killed myself; but I could never tell him that.

I could tell him a LOT of things, more things than I’d told anyone else, but I COULDN’T tell him THAT. Not now. Not here. Not in the rain across the way from Mighty Pete.

Mighty Pete.

_Mighty Pete._

A light bulb clicked in my head and instead of admiring the treehouse for all its nostalgic glory, I instantly turned around and began climbing up the old wooden rungs in an effort to reach our long-forgotten tree fort.

“What are,” Arnold started, “Helga- what are you doing?” He finally finished while standing below where I was climbing.

“Hang on,” I grunted while making my way up the trunk.

“Hold on?” Arnold asked incredulously while looking up at me from where he stood below. “You’re climbing a tree in the middle of the rain…”

“Your…point?” I asked while hoisting myself up into the tree house and soon leaning against the old wooden-railing that didn’t seem to budge even after all of these years.

“My point is,” he began though clearly had no idea where he was going with it. After a moment, he looked at me with a raised brow and asked, “Why?”

I stared down at him while resting my arms on the railing and sighed. “Here’s the deal, Hair Boy,” I said plainly to him, “I’m gonna crash up here for the night. Why, you’ll probably ask?”

I paused to let him ask but he never did; giving me the right to continue. “Because YOU aren’t going to follow me up here, got it?”

Arnold gazed up at me for a minute, “And what makes you think I’ll listen? What makes you think I WON’T climb up after you?” He challenged though I only shrugged it off.

“I’ll punch you,” I declared proudly, “right in the nose.”

He seemed unconvinced. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, Arnold,” I tried to convince him while glaring down in his direction, “I would.”

“Helga,” he tried; as if saying my name would STOP me and my threat.

“What?” I asked, “you want me to prove it?”

This seemed to get his attention as he narrowed his brows and scolded in true Arnold Shortman fashion, “Helga!”

Trying not to laugh (because really- who’s intimidated by SHORTMAN?) I shouted down, “Then DON’T come following me. Comprende?” I turned around to enter the treehouse, the war between us seemingly won, though Arnold spoke up again from where I left him standing in the rain.

“So,” he called up at me, “you’re…REALLY going to spend the night here?”

I stared out the window of the treehouse though refusing to leave my dry home for the night. “Maybe,” I hollered out to him.

“So you’ll be here in the morning?” He asked and I rolled my eyes while putting my hands defiantly on my hips.

“That’s a good assumption.”

“Fine,” Arnold said calmly from outside, “then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Storming out of the dryness of the old fort I made my way back outside and into the rain where Arnold was standing with a smile plastered on his giant head. “Wait- WHAT?” I yelled.

“Tomorrow morning,” he merely stated with a small know-it-all-like shrug. “I’ll even bring coffee.”

 _Coffee? Arnold’s bringing me…coffee? In the morning? At a TREE HOUSES?_ My heart felt like swooning while my brain told me to knock it the hell off. Confused, I managed, “Arnold, I-“

“No talking me out of this, Helga,” he said with a firmness unlike Arnold. “If you’re still here tomorrow morning, I’ll be here.”

I stared at him as if I could scare him from his stupid idea. “Really,” I stated menacingly though he didn’t even flinch.  

“Really, really.”

I chewed on my lower lip for a moment before breaking my glare out of frustration and exhaustion. “Fine, have it YOUR way, smart guy,” I replied with hostility, “then I just won’t be here.”

My words seemed to bounce off of them as if they’d completely lost their intimidating touch. “Okay,” he said.

_Okay._

_Okay?!_ I repeated in my head; the word unable to compute with my brain.

So I repeated after him, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Arnold said again with that same sultry smile still stuck on his lips. “But I’m still going to be here.”

I clenched my hands into fists repetitively for a few seconds before huffing and at last spitting out, “Fine, Arnold. COME here tomorrow morning and see that I WON’T BE HERE. Stay here ALL DAY for all I care. Knock yourself out.”

“I will.”

 _What was WITH him? Had he figured me out?? Had I completely lost my skill?_ He hadn’t cracked from this weird intimidation thing he had going and it was beginning to make me feel uneasy.

Suddenly feeling sick, I shouted down at Arnold, “Are you gonna go or what? I wanna get some SLEEP so I can continue avoiding you tomorrow in the AM.”

Arnold shrugged again and smiled up at me warmly, “You can’t avoid me forever, Helga.”

“Oh I can’t?” I asked in mock surprise. “Right. Well. Watch me.” I dared.

“Whatever you say, Helga, just do me a favor?”

“Why would I do anything for YOU?” I sneered though listened intently at his next words.

“Try to get some sleep, okay?” There was a kindness masked in his voice- a kindness that was all too familiar to me and my memories that it soon sent a shiver down my spine.

It was that same variety of kindness I’d been avoiding since it disappeared from my less-than-perfect life about a month ago, only now, it was coming from somebody else.

Slightly shaken, I offered only a singular nod before I turned around to crawl back into the dark tree-house that had once felt so spacious and now only felt…cramped.

Was it cramped because I’d gotten older and thus grown at least a half-of-a-foot? Yeah. Probably.

Was it cramped because the rain made the air feel sticky and like everything was closing in around me as if I was a part of some cheap Indiana Jones knock-off movie where the walls squish you flat as a pancake between them? Sure, that could be it too.

But it was that feeling, those pesky feelings of nostalgia that surrounded me, that made the whole fort feel so tight. All around me were memories from a simpler time; a time when finding a way to make Arnold love me was the only thing that mattered in my life.

Man, if that 14-year-old Helga could see me now.

I laid down on the cold tree-house floor and propped my hands up under my damp head as a sort of pillow. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, but at least it was silent; only the sounds of rain on the roof remained to lull me to sleep.

That, and the memories- memories of Olga, memories of myself, memories of the life I had and the life I have now; both polar opposites and still not anything I’d ever wanted.

How had I stooped this low?

That night, I dreamed I was on a tight-rope while walking over the world below; a haze covering the space beneath my feet so I couldn’t even see what was under me. I stood with my arms out to balance myself; the air brushing against me as I wobbled with each step.

“Helga,” Olga called out from what I could see was the other side. “Helga, you won’t make it, baby sister, you have to jump.”

“Jump?!” I exclaimed while wobbling in place on the midway point of the rope. “Are you CRAZY?!”

“Jump!” Arnold’s voice called though I couldn’t distinguish where he was.

“Arnold?” I asked while looking around myself for his face.

“You have to jump, baby sis,” Olga encouraged again with a smile. She looked so healthy; she looked like herself. “For me.”

Letting go of my fear, I allowed myself to fall from the rope; the speed with which I fell making me feel weightless as I floated away from the tightrope. Just as I began to see what was beneath me; the haze drifting away as I fell through it, wafts of coffee lifted me from the dream and I fluttered my eyes open to see none other than two pools of green staring back at me through the bright morning light.

“Morning Helga. Glad to see you didn’t leave.”

I shut my eyes again and let out a breath.

 _Fantastic..._  


	6. Five

I picked at the doughnut Arnold had brought for me and lazily brought small pieces up to my mouth to consume. I wasn’t all that hungry, heck, I’d just woke up for cripes sake but Arnold was apparently a real go-getter by getting up at 7 in the morning just to beat me from leaving Mighty Pete.

What a dorkwad.

It was all my own fault though. I’d PLANNED to ditch before he got here and I would have if my damn phone hadn’t died halfway through the night.

Figures.

So there I was, with the footballhead in our childhood treehouse drinking coffee and eating doughnuts at seven in the morning like the really cool and totally normal 22-year-olds we were. 

Oh yeah- and did I mention we’d been sitting like this in SILENCE for the past 20 minutes? All I could hear was our occasional sipping from the coffee cups and chewing of our doughnuts. It’d become like some weird song and dance to me.

Blow on steam. Wait. Blow on steam. Take sip. Bite from doughnut. Chew, chew, chew, chew. Swallow. Look around awkwardly. Repeat.

Honestly, the whole thing was quite alright with me. It isn’t like I wanted to talk to Arnold ANYWAY, seeing as he has this inane ability to always get out what he wants me to express no matter how badly I want to keep it all bottled up inside of me like I do best. It was like I couldn’t go ten minutes with the guy without spilling some kind of hidden feeling I’d meant to keep locked away.

The problem was he knew how I worked, and half of that was my own damn fault in the first place.

If I just hadn’t TOLD him those four months ago. If I had just refused to tell him ANYTHING and KEPT it to mySELF the way I’d INTENDED, I wouldn’t be in this mess I’d created for myself. I’d let him in- completely let him strip down those walls and let him see ME in all my vulnerable glory and now he KNEW it was in there.

I knew he was trying to get that out again. We’d become so close the last few months while Olga was alive and as magical and wonderful as it’d been to see Arnold fall in love with me like I’d always wanted, the whole Olga dying thing kinda put a damper on our almost-relationship.

So THAT’S who should be blamed- Olga, not me.

In fact, if Olga just hadn’t gotten that tumor in the FIRST place, maybe I could be with Arnold by now like the universe had CLEARLY intended. THEN maybe I wouldn’t be worrying about keeping my feelings to myself; I could just go out and share them to the world.

Even though I’d rather just share them with Arnold who always understood and was always there for me like some trusty canine.

 _Tell him,_ half of me begged. _Tell him how you’re feeling. He’s ARNOLD after all- he ALWAYS knows how to butt his giant head in and fix life’s problems. TALK TO HIM!_

But the other half of me was louder and much more authoritative as it yelled back at my other thought, _Are you KIDDING?! You can’t TALK to him. You can’t talk to ANYONE. You’re so WEAK, Helga. Stay STRONG- you don’t need to go confessing your feelings to some incredibly attractive football-head just because you’re confused. You don’t need HELP figuring out your life, just figure it out yourself! Then maybe when you’re done with that, you can pursue this relationship even though it probably won’t last seeing as you can’t express yourself without ruining it all in one shot. Have fun with THAT paradox._

All my conflicting thoughts roamed inside my head; each one bouncing off my skull to catapult itself back and forth until it made me dizzy. Dusting my hand off of the sugary particles sticking to my fingers from the doughnut, I reached up to rub at my temple that was beginning to throb.

“Helga? You alright?” Arnold asked once he realized I’d stopped eating to favor rubbing my head instead. “Do you have a headache?”

“A headache?” I repeated while glanced up at him under my eyelashes; his oblong-shaped-head nodding slowly as he watched me.

“You look a little pale, are you alright?”

A headache.

The word tumbled inside my head like ice in a glass being shaken violently about. The word itself somehow stung my skin and I shut my eyes while still rubbing at my head. I could feel my heartbeat as it pounded loudly like a drum inside my head; threatening to explode from the pressure it was keeping.

A headache…

_“Headache coming back?” I asked Olga from where I stood opposite of her to pour some of her special electrolyte fancy-pants water into a plastic cup; donned with a green bendy straw for convenience._

_I turned around holding the glass to see Olga laying in the hospital bed, her hand up at her shaved head to gently rub on her temple. “Mmm…” she groaned “nothing your…rr…big sis can’t handle,” she struggled out before offering a weak smile and reaching for the glass of water I was holding._

_“You nervous?” I asked while she took small sips from the straw while shakily holding the cup._

_“A little, but, you know wh-“ she started to cough and I took the cup from her to set aside and gently patted her back. After a minute, she caught her breath and smiled again. “What would I-I do without you, sis?”_

_I shrugged and gave her a small smile, “I dunno, I am pretty great, aren’t I?”_

_“You’re worried, Helga,” Olga said out of nowhere and I raised a brow in confusion._

_“I’M worried?” I said incredulously, “Why would I be worried? I’M not the one going into surgery to have my head cracked open and get a giant growth removed, now am I?” I said very bluntly and to the point._

_Olga had never been ashamed about what she was going through. In true Disney Princess fashion, she took it with grace and charm and all that other crap like it was no big deal._

_But it WAS a big deal._

_I mean, I guess._

_Olga chuckled and reached out a wobbily hand to place on my cheek. Her skin was cold and clammy and it continued to shake as it rested on my warm cheek. With her hand there, my eyes wandered to look at what was left of my sister lying in the hospital bed._

_She’d practically deteriorated. Criminy, it’d only been a little over a MONTH and Olga was already HALF of what she once was. They’d said it was stage 4 and this operation was pretty much her only chance at a survival unless a case of divine intervention came through for her._

_I mean, Olga was lucky- that was a cold hard fact that’d been thrown in my face my entire life…. But could Olga really be THAT lucky?_

_“Baby sister,” she cooed the nickname I’ve hated since birth, “I know this is a scary operation, but there is nothing for you to be afraid of.”_

_“I’m not AFRAID, Olga, I’m-“_

_But she cut me off, refusing to let me finish. “The doctors in there are very smart and will bring your sister right back to normal.” She nodded her head as if the action alone would stop the tears brimming in her eyes. “It’s all going to be just fine.”_

_She dropped her hand from my cheek to rest at her side as I crossed my arms and looked at her with a cocked brow. “And if it ISN’T? Then what? You know Mom will drink herself to death and dad will become a nut case. How am I supposed to handle THAT?”_

_Olga chewed on her lip for a moment while thinking through all the questions I’d posed. Olga may be annoying and far too cheery than a normal human, but she was smart and she knew the possible outcome to what she’d been diagnosed with._

_She knew there was a pretty high chance that she was going to die._

_“You-You DON’T handle that, Helga.” She said firmly with a solitary nod. “You be you and you go out there and do all of those things I know you’ll be able to do because you’re smart; maybe even smarter than me.” She chuckled at this as a tear fell down her cheek. “Helga, promise me.”_

_I swallowed hard at the lump trying to force its way up my esophagus. “Promise you what?” I nearly spit the words at her; angry that she was giving me some kind of sick goodbye before going into surgery._

_“Promise me you won’t let them dictate your life. The way they have mine.” Her words were serious; a full disclosure that Olga rarely gave to me. It was in that moment I saw something in her that I hadn’t seen any other time before; it was that of myself mirrored back at me._

_I mean, Olga WAS my sister which I GUESS made me somehow a part of her. And according to various books and internet articles, that made us have a special ‘BOND’ of some sort or whatever._

_It was a bond I’d tried to ignore my entire life, but as Olga sat in front of me, a shell of her former self, I couldn’t help but wish that I’d taken that ‘bond’ thing a little more seriously. There were things she understood that I didn’t about our parents. As hard as it was to admit it, Olga had ALWAYS been the only one on my side of, well, ANYTHING. She may have treated me like an infant most of my life, but at least she knew who I was and cared about me and my future._

_A future that, quite possibly, could now not include her._

_I looked at her; her buzzed to the skull hair, her tired and sunken eyes, her thinner than healthy frame and it was there, for the first time, I saw Olga for exactly what she was- something she’d been the whole time though I refused to admit it._

_My less-than perfect, average, all-mine sister._

_I pursed my lips to hold back the tears that were surely on their way down my cheeks and shook my head. “I uh, I gotta go, Olga. Mom and dad will be in here soon to coddle you before you go under the knife and all so I uh-“_

_“It’s alright, Helga” Olga said calmly, though with a hint of disappointment. “I understand.”_

_“I’ll see you when you get out? Headache free?” I teased for good measure and she smiled her winning smile my way._

_“Of course, Baby Sister. No more headaches.”_

“Helga?” Arnold asked again as I shook my head to return myself to reality.

“What? What?! Criminy! It’s just a HEADACHE, I’m FINE.” I snapped, the memory I’d just recalled seemingly too vivid for this early in the morning.

They made me have more FEELINGS… feelings I was in NO mood to have at 7am. So naturally, I tried to cover them up with a high dosage of anger- the way I did best. “What do you care ANYWAY, huh? Haven’t you ever had a HEADACHE before, Arnoldo? I would think with a skull THAT big, you’d be the KING of headaches, so just leave me and mine OUT of it.”

Arnold stared at me for a moment as if waiting for more insults only to sigh and set down his up of coffee.” I was just going to say that sometimes drinking coffee can help with headaches, that’s all.”

“Yeah well not ALL headaches can just be stopped by the ‘magic of caffeine,’ ya dingbat.” I sunk into myself and muttered quietly, “Take it from someone who knows…”

“Helga?” Arnold asked while reaching out to put a gentle hand on my shoulder.

_“Helga?” The doctor asked while walking up to me as I sat in the waiting room._

_I glanced around my surrounding and returned to look at him. “You looking for my parents? They’re around here somewhere, I think Bob went to nab some of those free coo-“_

_“Olga explicitly told me prior to surgery that you are to know the outcome first.” He said matter-of-factly and I raised a brow._

_“She-she did? Why?” I asked in a harsh tone; completely baffled why she’d do a dumb thing like that. She knew Mom and Dad cared a whole lot more than me. “So uh… so what’s the news then? Perfect Olga’s all back to being perfect again? Life can resume its normalcy?” I scoffed out but the doctor’s expression melted and I knew immediately what he was about to tell me._

_“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he began and I forced another scoff while crossing my arms nervously across my chest._

_“What? You gotta do another surgery or something?” I asked half-hopeful half-knowing exactly what the bad news was._

_The doctor took a deep breath before adjusting his glasses and saying slowly, “We weren’t able to remove the entirety of the tumor.” He took another breath and then said, “After running some more tests, it appears that the cancer has spread throughout her body – “_

_“And what? You didn’t catch that BEFORE? Isn’t your JOB to see that stuff BEFORE you send people into surgery?” I said loudly; eyes gravitating to our conversation._

_“Your sister’s body is spreading the cancer at a rapid rate. Just since her last checkup with us-“_

_“I don’t CARE about her checkups for cripes sake- is she gonna make it? Can she beat it? What’s our game plan, Doc?” I demanded; my emotions getting the better of me with each additional piece of bad news._

_“I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice, Miss Pataki,” the doctor said just above a whisper before clearing his throat and continuing to answer the question I’d asked. “What we can offer is some chemotherapy treatment along with-“_

_“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said cutting him off while waving a hand away from him, “How long? How long does that give her? Will it fix it?”_

_The doctor swallowed hard before shaking his head slowly, “No, it wouldn’t fix it. It may buy some time, however. One, maybe two years?”_

_My eyes widened._ Two years? Two more years? She won’t even be FORTY… _I thought to myself before dropping my arms to my side and asking the question I’d been dreading. “And-and without? Any of the treatments?”_

_“Four months. Maybe six, if we’re lucky.”_

_Four to six months? Ha. She didn’t even last THAT._

“You know, Arnold,” I said while snapping out of my memories long enough to face Arnold sitting before me; his hand still on my shoulder. “I really gotta get going- Pheebs is probably wondering where I’m at since I didn’t come home and all…” The excuses were oozing out of me as I scrambled to make my escape from Arnold and the childish treehouse we were occupying.

Arnold’s hand fluttered from my shoulder as I crawled away from him and began my way down the wooden-planked-ladder nailed to Mighty Pete’s trunk. “Helga!” Arnold called after me though I’d already leaped down to the ground.

I looked up at him and offered a half-grin. “Thanks for the grub, Hair Boy. Nice catchin’ up and all but,” I shrugged my shoulders, “I got business to attend.”

“Business?” Arnold asked while poking his head out of the treehouse to look at me where I stood below.

Beginning to walk away from the tree while taking big steps backwards, I shrugged again and shoved my hands in the front pockets of my jeans. “Yeah,” I offered a small laugh, “Not yours,” before sending up a salute his way and spinning around to walk as far away from the treehouse as I could.

“Are you going to let me see you again?” Arnold called after me as I walked and I smirked to myself while continuing on my way.

“Maybe if you’re lucky, Arnoldo,” I hollered back with a tilt of my head before turning to round the corner; leaving Arnold up in Mighty Pete with a gallon of coffee, a half-dozen doughnuts and his weird-shaped head in utter confusion.

 

 

 


	7. Six

The pavement had mostly dried from last night’s rainstorm. I kept my gaze on the ground beneath my feet as I trudged home from my really weird breakfast with Arnold up in Mighty Pete. The worms wriggled in the cracks of the sidewalk as the sun made its daily rise in the sky to illuminate Hillwood; mother nature’s alarm clock going off for all of us living in the city.

Hillwood was quick to wake up. It was nearly eight and people were already up and headed off for their jobs, catching the bus and taxis alike, or hopping into their cars to make that commute to wherever it is they needed to be today.

I, on the other hand, had NOWHERE to be, which made for a perfect excuse to wander the streets of Hillwood before finally getting back to Phoebe and Gerald’s love nest AKA my ‘home.’

And I was in no hurry to make my way back home.  

_I was in no way, shape or form ready to go home._

_Instead, I took steps with a wild fury away from the hospital. I couldn’t believe what Olga had pulled; making the doctor talk to ME first instead of my numbskull parents. What was she getting out of it anyway? Was she TRYING to further ruin my life by the power of knowledge? Making me learn first of her fate before anyone else so I have to suffer with it until she’s dead and buried in the ground?_

_I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell and curse at my big sister who had, yet again, ruined my life with her selfishness. How could she get a tumor? How could she screw herself over so bad?_

_Mom and Dad would never let me hear the end of it. Know what’s worse than living in the shadow of your big sister? Living in the shadow of your DEAD big sister. It’s almost like Olga knew the surefire way to top me in the perfect-daughter category (as if she hadn’t already done that) so she just went in for that last sick and twisted trophy to add to Bob’s collection._

_How could this happen? HOW could this HAPPEN?_

My shoes were dirty and still a little wet from the rain. They squished under me with each step I took and I stared intently at the damp canvas of my converse as if the feet I were watching weren’t attached to me; as if I wasn’t this sad moist person walking around Hillwood this early in the morning.

I kept my hands in my pockets as my mind drifted further into my own thoughts; the memories so vivid it was as if I had traveled back in time to when it all began.

To when Arnold first added himself into the Olga equation.

_Somehow, all my walking brought me to the ever-familiar Vine street- though I didn’t take much notice between my spouts of grumbling and violent kicking of a conveniently crushed Yahoo soda can._

_In fact, I probably would have ran into a light pole if it hadn’t been for that sweet and sultry voice calling me out of my thoughts._

_“Hey Helga,” Arnold said cheerfully with a bag of garbage in his hand which I supposed he was bringing to the can. “What brings you here?”_

_Winding my leg up to kick the soda can as far away as I could, I shoved my hands in my jeans’ pockets and turned to face him. “Who said I was here to see YOU, footballface,” I nearly spat though he seemed unphased._

_My acts of anger and hatred didn’t take to Arnold much anymore. Since graduation, he seemed pretty over my acts of bully-hood and had no trouble shaking off an insult or two from my god-forsaken mouth. “Nobody, it’s just kinda weird seeing you around here. You haven’t come by since we were in middle school.”_

_I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and narrowed my eyes at him; obviously he didn’t know about my visiting his little street all throughout High School. “It’s a free country, Arnoldo. I can walk wherever I want.”_

_Arnold flipped the lid of the garbage can up and over so he could toss the bag of trash into the can’s open mouth. Once it hit the bottom of the bin, he flipped the lid back over and wiped his hands on one another while smiling in my direction. “Either way, it’s good to see you, Helga. How’ve you been?”_

_I gritted my teeth together at the question. “How have I been?” I asked coolly, though Arnold was blind to see it was masking a geyser ready to burst._

_“Yeah, what have you been up to lately?”_

_Without second thought, blood rushed through my body as I struggled to keep the adrenaline now pumping through my system at bay. “Oh gee, I dunno, just hanging out, living life, watching Olga slowly die from cancer. Same old, same old.”_

_Arnold’s jaw dropped at my words as the color drained from his face. “Helga- I, I’m so sorry…” He was stuttering to get the words out, though he couldn’t seem to catch up with his own thoughts. “She, I mean how, when did-“_

_“Does it really matter?” I answered for him, though he never had the chance to finish his question. “At the end of the day, she’s going to either come out on top as the brain cancer champion of the universe in true Olga Pataki fashion, or she’ll go caputsville and I’ll have her out of my life for good like I always said I wanted.”_

_Arnold blinked twice while watching me intently. “That’s a pretty morbid attitude, Helga. I don’t think you really believe that.”_

_“What? That I want her gone?” I said matter-of-factly before shrugging my shoulders. “Who cares what I believe? It doesn’t change anything.”_

_“I just can’t believe you’d be so jealous of your sister that you’d actually want her…gone.” Arnold furrowed his brows in confusion- maybe disappointment? I never could tell what was going on in that weird head of his. “You can certainly be a little…rough…but that’s not who you are-“_

_Taken aback by his assumption, I scoffed. “Like YOU know who I am. You’re just some freaky-headed nobody who may be taller than me now, but that doesn’t mean you have ANYTHING on me, Hair Boy.”_

_He sighed and nodded his head. “Sure, Helga. I know nothing about you.”_

_I pursed my lips and raised a brow at him. “Ri-Right. Let’s keep it that way- shall we?” I finalized before turning on my heel to begin walking away from him and his stupid boarding house._

_Just as I walked away, however, I heard him call out after me in that annoying understanding-sort-of-way he has with words, “Whatever you say, Helga.”_

Of course, it didn’t take long for the footballhead to start calling me and texting me and messaging me in nearly every format available so he could offer his help. I figured it was mostly his guilt riding him to be the noble-guy he is, but he insisted he was genuine even after I rejected all of his attempts to reach out to me.

After all, I AM Helga G. Pataki: world’s best avoider of all things good and Arnold Shortman related.

It would have stayed that way too if I didn’t have to call him after Olga’s first little ‘incident’ which is where all the messy feelings came into play ANYWAY.

I mean, why would I call HIM of all people? Why not Phoebe or the LOGICAL option of 911?

 _Probably because you’re an IDIOT, Helga,_ I thought to myself as I walked up the stoop Arnold had been sitting at just yesterday; that ever familiar umbrella of his shielding his golden locks from the violent rainstorm.

Shaking my head from the memory, I pushed my way up the cement steps and entered the apartment building, then headed straight for room 103- my somewhat home sweet home.

 “Helga!” Phoebe squeaked in surprise as she appeared from the kitchen the moment I unlocked the door. “Oh my,” she exclaimed once catching a glimpse of me; still haggard from my little shower last night.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said half-heartedly while kicking the door shut behind me, “it’s a long story.”

“I see,” she said thoughtfully while watching as I made my way to the dining room table; sliding one of the wooden chairs out.

With a huff, I collapsed onto the chair; my body completely exhausted from the past 24 hours. Once seated, I brought my hands up to rub at my eyes in an effort to wake myself up. “I uh,” I said into my hands, the words coming out muffled before I dropped my hands to rest on the tabletop. “I went to that Creative Circle thing last night.”

Phoebe’s brow raised before she turned around and walked back into the kitchen where she’d been making a pot of tea like she normally did in the early mornings after Gerald went to work. “Did you find it helpful?” She asked while pouring herself a cup of piping hot green tea before adding, “More so in comparison than the other two you attended?”

I scoffed as she walked my way with her cup of tea to sit beside me at the table. “Are you kidding?” I answered with a falsified laugh, “It was just like all the others- only with the addition of coloring books. The whole thing was more like pre-school than a group for people with a death-complex. I’m telling ya, the only thing missing from the elementary affair was some fruit snacks and a nap break.”

Phoebe nodded her head, “I’m sorry to hear that, I truly believed with the added creative element, the Creative Circle might prove to be a good fit for you. “

I shrugged my shoulders, “I dunno, Pheebs. I’m starting to think maybe those ‘support groups’ just aren’t my deal.”

“I understand,” she said with a small smile before blowing on her cup of tea and taking a tentative sip from the cup. “What I don’t understand, however, is what you mean by a death-complex?”

“Right. A death-complex.” I repeated while leaning in to her over the table, “All it was, was sad stories, people crying and some weird girl harassing me to get up and spill my guts at their cheap podium.”

Phoebe’s eyes widened as she struggled to swallow her sip of tea. Coughing slightly, she finally caught her breath and set her cup down to say, very surprised, “You shared your experiences with Olga? In front of the group?”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back in the chair, “Barely,” I said with a sigh. “I ditched out early, per usual Helga G. Pataki.”

“Ahh,” she nodded her head thoughtfully with another small sip of her tea. I could tell she wanted to ask where I’d been- I knew Phoebe well enough to know that. But Phoebe was Phoebe and I knew she was too courteous and nice to just come out and ask me.

So with a smack of my lips, I took a breath and blurted out, “I ran into Arnold last night, too.”

Phoebe seemed less than surprised, “And where was that?”

I frowned, “At our doorstep. Kid was waiting out in the pouring rain with his umbrella demanding to talk to me about _us_ and about _her.”_

Phoebe watched me as if I was retelling a story she’d heard a thousand times, “And did you speak with him? Based on your condition when you came home this morning, I would assume so.”

I eyed her curiously, “You assume correctly,” I murmured, “though it doesn’t sound much like an assumption.”

Silence surrounded us and it took only a minute before I finally caught on to the weird air of the room. “You didn’t think I’d go to that thing, did you?” I asked and Phoebe carefully watched me before answering.

“I did not, no.”

“So if you didn’t think I was going to go to that thing-“ I began, though Phoebe was quick to give in to the direction I was headed with my inquisitive tone.

Phoebe was smart, yes, but Phoebe was NOT a good liar.

“Gerald and I thought it might… benefit you if we contacted Arnold. He appears to be the only person you have opened up to abou-“

“SERIOUSLY, Phoebe?” I shouted to cut her off, my volume alone making her jump in her seat as an expression of fear flitting across her face. “Is nothing SACRED?”

“You ha-haven’t spoken to him in over a month, Helga,” she stuttered out, my outburst catching her off-guard. “It seems as though you don’t wish to properly deal with your feelings about Olga’s passing and it’s getting in the way of how you’re living your life.”

I shook my head in complete disbelief; tears of anger filling my eyes. “How I’m living my life,” I repeated while still shaking my head and avoiding Phoebe’s gaze. “I pay you your rent, I chip in for groceries, hell, I follow ALL your stupid rules so WHY do you care about how I’m ‘living my life?’ I’m fine, Phoebe!”

“I don’t think you’re fine, Helga. You need to talk to somebody and Arnold-“

“Was the best option?!” I finished for her while pushing myself up from the table to stand and glare down at her. “This is about moving out, isn’t it?” I switched tunes; Phoebe furrowing her brow in confusion.

“Helga,” she said softly while reaching out to touch my arm though I snatched it away in frustration.

“Because if this is about that, I’ll move out- I got the money, you KNOW that and I’ll be out of yours and Geraldo’s tall hair FOR GOOD.”  

We stared at each other- me standing while Phoebe stayed seated at the wooden table -the silence building between the two of us as minutes ticked by. Finally, Phoebe took a breath and whispered out, “I’m afraid that I’m… I’m very worried about you, Helga.”

I swallowed the growing lump in my throat that usually appears when Phoebe and I fight, as rare as those occasions are. “You don’t have to be worried about me, Pheebs,” I said calmly, though my insides were on fire. “So just… just stop trying to fix me and my life, okay?”

With that, I turned around and walked down the hallway and directly into the bathroom; slamming the door behind me the moment I was inside.

“I can’t BELIEVE this!” I shouted at the bathroom mirror even though I knew Phoebe could hear me from where she was probably still sitting at the dining room table. “Who just DOES that?!”

Phoebe. Phoebe and her tall-haired, sassy moron-of-a-boyfriend Geraldo.

Couldn’t they just leave me be? Couldn’t they just butt out and let me be miserable and silent and avoid Arnold for the rest of my life like I’d _planned_ to? What made them think they could fix my life? What made them think for even an inkling of a second that my life was at all fixable?

 _As if_ Arnold _could fix my sick problems,_ I thought as I took deep breaths to calm myself while staring at my reflection in the mirror; my arms holding my body weight as I leaned on the counter/sink. _As if ANYONE could fix my problems, let alone some footballhead with mesmerizing green eyes and a noble disposition._

I blinked a few times before pushing myself up off of the sink to walk to the shower where I immediately pulled the faucet in an attempt to block out some of my thoughts with sounds of the rushing water. Like the rain from last night, water fell from the showerhead heavily; each drop splashing on the shower’s plastic tubbed-floor. Once the room began to fill with steam thick enough to cloud my vision, I pulled off my clothes one by one and tossed them on the floor, then entered the shower that promised to clean me from at least an outsider’s point of view.

If only there were such thing as a shower that could clean my thoughts from their current state of painful memories and annoyed feelings threatening to overtake my system.

The heat of the water stung at my skin as it slid down my body and joined the pool forming at my feet. I opened my eyes through the curtain of water streaming over my face and looked ahead at the bathroom’s white wall in front of me. My hair stuck to my face, the blonde turning a light brown as it soaked up the clean water I imagined was rain like last night had brought.

I reached up and rubbed at my damp face while closing my eyes; images I’d hoped would disappear with the shower’s water flashing behind my lids.

_THUMP_

_Footsteps as I climbed the stairs in our empty house to get to Olga’s room._

_Olga lying on the floor; her head still shaven from her surgery only weeks ago. She was jerking and whipping around like I’d never seen as if she couldn’t control her body._

_“Olga?” I called out, though she couldn’t answer and instead flopped around like a fish out of water; completely helpless from where she’d clearly fallen out of bed._

I separated my fingers so I could peek through the cracks and stare out once again through the blanket of water.

_“Shit!” I yelled as I rushed to her side in an effort to get her to stop throwing her body around like a limp ragdoll. ”Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!” My words were full of desperation as I reached out and grabbed Olga by the shoulders and tried with all my might to make her stop moving._

_But she wouldn’t._

_“Olga, come ON! Help me out, here!” My pleas were useless- she couldn’t hear me._

_Panic washed over me as I struggled to keep her in place where she lay on the floor. Thinking fast, I tried to remember what we’d learned in health class eons ago about seizures and how to help someone if they were having one._

_I’d never paid much attention in the class- Arnold sat three desks away from me so I’d remained pretty distracted -but as Olga seized in front of me, the information came flooding back and I acted quickly in hopes the attack wouldn’t last much longer._

The water began to grow cold- a frequent in the apartment complex as I’d learned -and once I’d returned from my thoughts, I rushed through washing and conditioning my hair as the water temperature neared closer and closer to freezing within minutes. Despite the sudden change, the room was still thick with steam when I shut the water off and shivered my way out. Immediately, I grabbed the nearest towel in an effort to dry myself from my longer-than-average shower by wrapping it tightly around my thin frame and then tip-toeing my way back to the sink where I stared ahead at the mirror; my reflection blocked by fog left over by the steam.

I reached my hand out to wipe a large chunk of the mirror, my image appearing smudged from the water now dripping down the glass as I eyed myself up and down. Hair was still clinging to my face; the stringy blonde locks looking like yellow chunks of play-doh snaking out of my skull. My skin looked paler than usual, though my cheeks reflected a bright pink hue like they always did after a mostly-hot shower.

But amid the ivory skin and mop-like hair was a set of ice-cold blue irises staring back at me; a hurt behind them like I’d never cared enough to notice before. I bore into my own soul, searching beyond my eyes for the answer to a question I’d never asked yet desired to know. The hair on my body stood up on end from the sudden chill of the air, though I remained frozen in place; staring at the stranger clad in only a towel ahead of me.

Who was she? What had she become? What had she _let_ herself become?

How did I _get_ like this?

_With a grunt, I pushed Olga over to lay on her side and held her in place as best as I could while reaching up onto her bed for the closest pillow. Grabbing it by the corner, I yanked it out from under the covers and quickly placed it under her head as she continued to thrash about._

_“C’mon, Olga,” I begged as I gently placed a hand on her head, “don’t do this to me now…”_

_Her eyelids twitched as her eyes rolled back in her head, straining as if to see the back of her skull completely from where she lay. I stroked her shaven head in an effort to soothe her rioting body; the small golden hairs sprouting out gently brushing against my palms like the fuzz of a peach._

_The whole scene lasted nearly two minutes before her body grew tired and at last went limp on the ground. Once I’d checked to make sure she was still breathing, I leaned back from her to survey the situation._

Tears were welling in my eyes and I watched as they pooled up at the base of my vision while staring blankly ahead at myself in the mirror.

 _“What am I supposed to do_ now _?” I asked myself while sitting beside Olga on the floor. She’d pissed herself, though that was no surprise. Her brain was so clogged with that tumor I knew she didn’t have control of her own body and thoughts during the whole episode, though she’d be embarrassed as all hell when she found out._

_Olga was all about her image and I was watching it all slowly disintegrate in a matter of weeks._

_“Think, Helga, think! What are you gonna DO?” I shouted out to myself._

_Olga groaned from where she lay and I knew immediately what it was I had to do._

_I had to get her back in the bed. But how? I certainly wasn’t going to be able to lift her up there all by myself._

Ambulance? _I considered before ultimately shaking my head at the thought. Olga had insisted she didn’t want to be at the hospital- I couldn’t blame her, it reeked of sickness and death over there -and she’d be mortified to find out people saw the aftermath of her little seizure puddling up on the carpet underneath her._

Mom and Dad? _The thought barely made it through my brain before I nixed the idea completely. Since her diagnosis, Olga had become increasingly agitated with all their affections and babying her; it was something I’d never thought I’d live long enough to witness, but I was sure she wouldn’t be thrilled to wake up to them weeping over her bed at her tumble._

_Who was left to call? Who would show up at such late notice anyway? Who in the world did I know who could keep this a secret and not ask questions that would send the Pataki name right into the dumpster conveniently placed in the alley back behind our house?_

_One name danced through my head, a name I didn’t want to admit but knew was my best chance at helping Olga and not completely ruining everything._

My phone buzzed on the toilet cover where I’d left it before I started my shower and I reached over to pick it up and check who in God’s name would be texting _me_ , Helga G. Pataki, this early in the morning.

I pursed my lips as I read the name lighting up my phone’s screen:

Arnold.

_Arnold. I could call Arnold._

I tapped the button on the side of my phone to turn the screen black once more.

_I reached for my phone that was already sticking halfway out of my back pocket and quickly tapped the button on the side to illuminate the screen. With a few sporadic taps of my thumb, I found my contacts and quickly scrolled through the names before finding the appropriate one and picking the ‘call’ option._

My eyes drifted from the phone back up to my blurred reflection staring back at me once again.

_“Hey, Arnold?” I said into the receiver once he picked up, his voice muffled on his end for whatever reason._

_“Helga?” He asked and I nodded though he couldn’t see me._

_“Yeah, yeah, look- you mean what you said when you told me to call if I needed your help with anything? Anything… Olga related?”_

_It sounded like he adjusted his handhold on the phone and his voice soon rang in crystal clear in my ear. “Yes, yes, of course. Why? Is something wrong?”_

_I glanced down to where Olga was still lying on the ground with her pillow under her bald head._

I blinked through the tears that spilled over my lids to slide down my cheeks though I was quick to reach up and wipe them away. My eyes quickly darted from their respective reflection in the mirror down to my phone still in my hand.

_I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced back the nerves that were bubbling up to the surface just from hearing Arnold’s heavenly voice. “Arnold,” I said again while reaching up to rub at my face, “I need your help.”_

Shaking my head, I tossed my phone facedown onto counter beside the sink. “I don’t need your help, Arnold,” I said before I opened the door to the bathroom and walked to my room where I shut the door and locked myself inside for the remainder of the day.

 _“Sure, Helga. I’ll be right there.”_  


	8. Seven

_The girl, tall and thin with long blonde hair, stumbled about as she tried to make her way to the bathroom. She was drunk; completely sloshed and grumbling as she shuffled over the carpet and staggered down the hallway._

_Thump! Thump!_

_She bounced against the walls of the hallway like the shiny metal ball in a pinball machine; her body limp as a ragdoll with each trip and fall. All the while, the flaxen haired girl held tightly onto her cup as its alcoholic contents splashed about- though she didn’t seem to notice that the liquids were quick to saturate her clothes as it spilled over the rim._

_SLAM!_

_She rammed into the wall just before the bathroom door and slid down the drywall with a loud groan as her free hand shot up to rub at her throbbing head. It was there she remained until a familiar figure came rushing from seemingly nowhere to get to her side._

_“Are you alright?” Arnold asked while reaching for the young woman who shakily reached for him in return. With a grunt, he pulled her up to lean against him; her arm sloppily wrapping around his shoulders as he tried to walk her into the bathroom._

_“We’re almost there- you’re okay,” he encouraged while eyeing her cautiously with each wobbled step she managed to take._

_It was a pathetic sight, to see Arnold helping someone who was so helpless. The girl wavered while standing on the tiles of the bathroom as her held tilted from side to side like the waves of an ocean in the middle of a storm._

_To the right…to the left…all the way around to the back. She drooped her head backwards as if bricks were occupying the space inside of her skull. It hung from her as if the weight was too much to hold or simply too much for her frail body to handle. From her neck it hung, the head seeming as if it could fall off and roll away from her completely had it not been attached to her neck._

_Even so, Arnold, ever the nobleman, held onto her firmly and forced her up to lean against the sink._

_“Come on, come on,” he cooed while turning the faucet on and trying to brush back some of her messy, tangled yellow tendrils. “You have to hold your head up for me, okay? You can do it…”_

_His endlessly patient voice echoed through the bathroom as the girl mumbled nonsense and tried with all her might to lift her heavy head._

_It was then that she was finally able to look into the mirror; her eyes widening the moment her blue irises locked with those of the reflection staring back at her._

_It was me._

_Me._

_Helga G. Pataki._

_“Helga?” He asked---_

My eyes shot open in the dim room where I’d fallen asleep what felt like only minutes ago. I pushed myself up from the bed and rolled my neck back and forth while reaching up to rub at the muscles that were tight from however it was I’d slept.

“Criminy,” I groaned out while squeezing my eyes shut to try and speed up the blood flow cycling its way through the veins leading up to my brain, “how long was I sleeping?”

I reached over to grab my phone which had been sitting where I’d left it on the bedside table after I’d gotten out of the shower. Unplugging it from the cord, I tapped the button on the side to illuminate the screen.

5:37pm

 _Shit…_ I thought before tossing my phone ahead of me on the bed with a muffled FLOP _. Phoebe must think I’m really mad at her._

Which wasn’t a _lie_ per say- I was still pretty miffed she’d gone behind my back to arrange that weird little ‘playdate’ or whatever it was Arnold and I had just had -but Phoebe was like my sister; one that I liked anyway, and who wasn’t dead. I _had_ to forgive her because that’s just what we do.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t give her a rightful silent treatment, although from the eerie sound of silence resounding through the apartment, it seemed like it was _Phoebe_ giving one to _me_.

With a huff, I shoved the covers off of my body and swung my legs around to fall limply over the side of the bed. Gathering enough energy, I then pushed myself up to stand on my own two feet; my toes wiggling in the fibers of the carpet as I let the blood rush down throughout my body. With a yawn, I reached over to pick my phone back up from where it lay on the bed and slowly made my way to the bedroom door, which I opened just enough to peek my head through.

My eyes scanned the living room, hallway and kitchen before I pulled the door entirely open and sighed.

Empty. The entire apartment was empty.

Dark orange light beamed in through the patio window of our first floor apartment; the sunset’s colors painting the dead objects of the room in vast shades and glorious hues. Shadows danced across the walls as cars passed the complex on the busy street where the world so effortlessly lived on outside of my current four walls.

Gingerly, as if stepping out onto ice rather than carpet, I tip-toed out of my room and wandered into the thick sunlight that nearly blinded me after a few feet. It bathed me in warmth where I stood in the center of our living room and I closed my eyes for a moment as if to let the light soak into the hungry pores of my skin; eager to let the light envelop me completely as if swallowing me whole.

After a minute, I broke from the light and made my way to the glass patio door that I’d noticed Gerald and Phoebe hardly use. In fact, in the time that I’d spent here in their little ‘love shack’ _I’d_ been the only one to use the patio, though I highly doubted either of them were aware of that.

Mostly because I kept my smoking to myself; nobody knew I smoked.

Well, nobody except Arnold that is.

I reached out to flick the lock open and grabbed the wooden handle. Then, using all my strength since the door had a tendency to stick, I pushed the heavy glass door to slide all the way open; a heavy breeze slapping me in the face the moment I did so.

I filled my lungs with the crisp, fresh air before stepping out onto the cement slab that made up the patio floor; my toes immediately cold as I stood on the pavement. Trying to keep my feet from freezing completely off, I hopped between them as I reached around to yank the door shut behind me.

It was a fairly quiet evening, all things considered. Cars sped past our street with the occasional honk or two from some road-raged drivers. The distant sound of a police siren wailed as if harmonizing with the music of the world around me in a cacophony of sounds that forced a chill up and down my spine. The universe so effortlessly lived on, despite my everyday plights and tribulations.

Even though Olga was gone, the world didn’t hesitate for a single second. It kept on spinning. It kept on living even though Olga was not.

With a blink, I twisted to face the cheap plastic table that was sitting beside me with a giant plastic plant set for “decoration” on its surface. Reaching out, I took hold of the plant’s waxy, fake stems and with a yank, I pulled the plant up from its pot to reveal the pack of cigarettes I’d been hiding underneath for a solid month.

It wasn’t that Phoebe hadn’t probably already figured out I’d been smoking on and off for a while now, Phoebe was the smartest person I knew for cripes sake- it was the fact that she hadn’t mentioned anything about it that made me feel like I had to hide it. Plus, I didn’t think Pheebs would take too kindly to my openly smoking on the premise of her ‘dojo’ or whatever it was she referred to the apartment as.

It was much easier to hide the whole thing from her than to come out with it. Knowing Phoebe, she’d only try to stop me like Arnold had when _he_ found out, and with the way I’d been feeling as of late, that was the _last_ thing I needed.

I flipped open the lid of the carton to reveal my last 2 Pink Camel no. 9’s and my white lighter that I’d peeled the design off of a few days ago. Taking one of the sticks between my forefinger and my middle finger, I brought it up to my lips and quickly used my other hand to flick the lighter; its flame taking a few tries before showing itself and lighting up my cigarette.

The smell of tobacco filled the air around me as smoke began to billow up from the end of the cigarette as it burned between my lips. I inhaled deeply, the cancerous smoke filling my lungs, and I soon exhaled the smoke out as relief washed over me.

I pulled the cig from my lips to tap some of the excess ash from the end of the stick onto the ground and sighed as I stared at it burning away. Smoke danced upward, the thin stream from the end of my cigarette snaking its way up into the atmosphere above me. It was people like me who wanted to watch the world burn; who didn’t care about what happened to this beautiful planet we lived upon.

I stared at the smoke as it continued to travel up into the blood orange sky and I blinked a few times as I allowed my thoughts to intertwine with the smoke of now and the smoke of then; the smoke that transcended through my memories and into the present where I stood outside trying to forget.

I tried to forget my feelings.

I tried to forget my own thoughts.

I tried to forget the memories that haunted me day in and day out, with little success.

I brought the cigarette back up to my lips and inhaled another breath of their poison before huffing out the smoke in a giant cloud.

What had my life come to?

_I couldn’t believe what my life had come to._

_Here I was, outside, smoking a CIGARETTE while Arnold- the love of my natural born life -is inside of my house taking care of my dying sister._

_The whole thing was like the plot to some Lifetime movie like Miriam watches when she’s smashed._

_I puffed on the smoke stick angrily while half-sitting on the cement railing of the stoop; my legs swinging back and forth as the slight summer breeze brushed over my skin. The smoke rolled off of the cigarette with the wind like the smooth dance of two dancers; the duet like a song lulling me away with their graceful movements. The air was thick with heat and felt like the inside of an oven; beads of sweat starting to roll down the back of my neck after only being outside for a few minutes._

_So was a typical summer in Hillwood and this year was proving no different._

_No different, other than my sister who was laying inside the house, dying._

_The door behind me squeaked open as soft footsteps followed outside to where I was seated; my back to who I presumed to be Arnold, seeing as nobody else was home with me besides Olga. The footsteps stopped and the door shut behind me with a loud SLAM before Arnold cleared his throat and finally spoke._

_“Olga is awake now,” he said quietly, “Groggy- but awake. I think she’ll be fine.”_

_I nodded my head while taking another drag of my cig and then letting it out. “’Fine, huh?” I snapped, though Arnold didn’t deserve that._

_He was just trying to help, like I’d asked him._

_I watched the smoke at the end of my cigarette and silently wished it was I who could be blown away so easily into oblivion._

_“All things considered, at least,” he tried to recover. I imagined he was reaching up to rub at the back of his neck in that sexy way he did, but I wasn’t in the mood and I refused to turn around and check._

_Arnold cleared his throat again nervously and commented, “I didn’t know you smoked.” He then took a few steps down the stoop; the corner of his football-head just creeping into my peripheral vision._

_With a smirk, I kept my eyes ahead at the street and said, “I don’t,” before taking another long drag and exhaling slowly._

_Arnold paused for a moment, probably watching as I clearly smoked ahead of him and deciding whether or not it was worth fighting. Apparently it was, as he asked, “Then what is it you’re doing, exactly?” His tone was inquisitive as if genuinely interested in what my excuse would be._

_I merely sighed and replied with, “I’m de-stressing.”_

_He sighed and moved to lean on the railing behind me while looking over to where I smoked beside him. “You know,” he said in that matter-of-fact parent-like tone of his, “there_ are _healthier ways to de-stress, Helga.”_

_I ground my teeth together for a second before saying through them, “I don’t NEED you and your FREAKY HEAD telling me how to live my life, Hair Boy.” My voice had raised and I soon found myself turned to glare at him as he stared back at me calmly from where he was still leaning._

_He nodded his head a few times, more to himself than to me, and then pushed himself from the railing to stand behind me again with his hands shoved deeply into his jeans’ front pockets. “Sorry, Helga,” he apologized sincerely; his eyes glimmering under the sunset’s soft light above us. “I was just trying to help.”_

_With that, he nodded once again in my direction before turning around to head back inside._ Stop him! _My conscience yelled at me as I watched him reach for the door._ You’re BLOWING it, Helga! OPEN UP!

_Instinctively, and impulsively, I blurted out, “Arnold- wait.”_

_Arnold stopped, his hand on the handle, and turned to look at me over his shoulder. “Yes, Helga?”_

_I stared at him, searching his eyes for any indication of what he was thinking as he stood before me. I took a deep breath, my eyes shutting softly as I did, and turned my head to look out at the street. Softly, I said, “I don’t even like the taste of these, you know.”_

_Arnold turned back around and took a few steps towards me to lean on the cement railing once again. He watched me for a moment as I tapped off the excess ash and took another pull of my cigarette. Boldly, and with a knowing-sort-of-confidence, he said, “Why smoke them then?”_

_I shrugged while staring ahead as a blue Ford Taurus drove passed at impressive speed for being on a resident street, and sighed. “I dunno, Arnoldo,” I said, “maybe because they look cool. Maybe because I like the nicotine high- even though it never lasts -or MAYBE it’s just my own weird way of torturing myself slowly until I too finally get cancer and croak.” The words spilled out of me uncontrolled and completely uncensored; each of my emotions evident as my voice cracked on the last word of my sentence._

_I turned to look and see Arnold’s reaction to what I’d said and found only his eyes meeting mine as if they’d been staring into them the whole time. Chickening out from the eye contact he was holding, I looked away from him and blinked rapidly while staring down at my lap._

_Shaking my head, I raised my cigarette and took another inhale before letting it out and rubbing the dead butt on the cement of the railing. “Point is,” I said while flicking the butt away from me and into the alley my body was facing, “death is hardly fair and Olga’s practically the freakin’ POSTER child for that sad fact.”_

_I laughed a stale chuckle to myself while reaching up to cross my arms tightly over my chest, “Why should I not smoke if something else may end up being my demise?” I asked aloud, not expecting an answer. Angrily, I continued, the words having a mind of their own as they left my lips._

_“And even if something else DOES, at least I’d KNOW the cause,” I turned to look at Arnold again and leaned in towards his face while pointing at the door of my house. “Olga in there?” I said while heatedly pointing, “She doesn’t HAVE a reason. The girls practically a SAINT!”_

_I threw my hands into the air and leaned away from Arnold. “As much as I can’t STAND the girl, I gotta give her credit that she’s lived a pretty charmed life before all of this.”_

_Pushing myself up off of the railing, I walked down the steps of the stoop to begin pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the house. “I mean, modeling in France, traveling all of Europe by backpack, heck- helping underprivileged children in Africa! The whole nine YARDS!”_

_I was getting louder with each bit of information I was feeding to Arnold, though I couldn’t stop myself. Despite how scared I was that I was opening up to ARNOLD of all people, my mouth refused to quit spilling all of my secrets; exposing everything I truly was and everything I truly felt._

_Without stopping, I continued to pace and exclaim while gesturing wildly with my hands. “Mother Teresa is NOTHING compared to Olga and all the crap she’s done already at her age- the girl’s not even FORTY, Arnold! She has EVERYTHING ahead of her! A perfect husband. Perfect children. A perfect FAMILY in a perfect house with the perfect view like I’ve ALWAYS known she’d have.”_

_I shook my head while continuing to talk with both my hands and my shouting, shrill voice, “She’s supposed to spend every day of my natural born life BOASTING about her perfect life- a life I would have HATED and endured plenty of jealousy complexes over.”_

_I stopped in my tracks while catching my breath and staring down at my now frozen feet underneath me. After a minute, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and said softly, “And now, NONE of that is going to happen because SHE has to up and DIE.”_

_A soft breeze blew over us; my hair flying over my face though I didn’t care enough to try and stop it from doing so. My blonde locks dropped to my shoulders as Arnold and I both sighed in unison. He took a few steps forward to then sit on the second step of the stoop while watching me intently. “Did you ever think maybe,” he started carefully- clearly thinking through his words before saying them, “…maybe Olga has done everything she was meant to have done? That maybe her time is up?”_

_I scoffed with a dramatic eyeroll and crossed my arms over my chest. “Arnold, are you not AWARE of who it is we are TALKING about here? It’s OLGA. Of COURSE she had more to do, you moron.” I shook my head to myself while staring down at my feet and saying just under a whisper, “She had… so much more to do.”_

I sat on the cement of the patio with my knees bent up into my chest. My cigarette was long gone by now and I sat staring out at the street while debating if I should light up the only other one I had left. If they weren’t so damn hard to find in this town, I wouldn’t worry about it, but only one gas station carries my Pink Camels; the gas station just outside of Hillwood bordering the neighboring town.

Contemplating my odds of Phoebe and Gerald coming home in the time it would take me to drive to the gas station and return, I tossed the pack back and forth between my hands; the lone cigarette bouncing to and fro inside the carton.

_I tapped the brand new carton I’d pulled out of my other pocket on the heel of my left hand. “Anyway,” I said mindlessly as Arnold sat watching me from the stoop, “she starts treatments this week. Courtesy of good ole, mom and dad.” With my thumb, I flicked the pack open and proceeded to pull off the shiny, pink foil protecting me from the killers inside._

_“She doesn’t want the treatment?” Arnold asked while scooting over; a silent invitation for me to sit beside him._

_I shoved a cigarette between my lips and placed the pack back into my pocket while moving to sit on the cement stair next to Arnold. “You know, the doctor told me the odds of her surviving all this.” I blurted out as the cigarette bounced with my lips as I spoke._

_“And?”_

_I brought a hand up to shield the light of my lighter from the wind as I set flame to the end of my cig. After I took a long drag, I exhaled and said softly, “7%. He even suggested hospice care.”_

_“So why isn’t that what she’s doing?” Arnold asked while turning to look at me; a shiver shooting down my spine._

_I shook my head while taking another drag. “Bob won’t let her. He won’t give up on his ‘prize.’”_

_“Is that what Olga wants? Has anyone even asked her?”_

_My eyes followed the smoke as it traveled through the air surrounding us. I shook my head once. “No,” I muttered, though Arnold didn’t seem surprised._

_“If I were you-“ he started, though I was quick to cut him off._

_“Which you AREN’T, might I remind you.”_

_Arnold sighed and gave me a look that made my cheeks splash with bright red I could feel under my skin._

_“If I were you,” he repeated with determination, “I would ask her.”_

_I rolled my eyes, “Riiiiiiiight. I’ll just go in and say, ‘Hey Olga. You’re looking great. Odds are you won’t be making it through all this so I was WONDERING if you even want to try or not?’ Sure, Arnold. BRILLIANT idea, football-head.”_

_“Helga…” he scolded in that monotone voice of his when he was really irritated with my sarcasm._

_I huffed out a breath and tapped ash onto the space of the stair beside me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll talk to her, alright? Criminy….I call you for help and I end up getting a lecture.”_

_“Well I didn’t_ have _to come,” he said crossly; his sudden anger making my heart race inside my chest._

_“You’re right. You didn’t,” I replied while turning to look at his shocked face. Taking a soothing breath, I then said as calmly and sincerely as I could manage, “but I’m glad you did.”_

I tossed the nearly empty pack into its home underneath the fake plant and sighed while covering the pink and black carton up once more. In once fluid motion, I then reached into my back pocket to pull out my phone and navigate to my messages where Arnold’s still sat- unread.

_Relief washed over Arnold’s face as he offered a small smile and nod. “It’s no problem, Helga. Anytime.”_

_Taking another puff, I exhaled and smirked to myself. “I mean, you were like a PRO in there…” I shook my head to myself while looking down at my converse-clad feet. “How did you know to do all of that stuff?”_

_Arnold thought for a moment as if trying to work out how he was going to answer my question. He pursed his lips and then said, “My mom.”_

_“Stella?” I asked while leaning back to rest on the step behind me. “Doesn’t she just do plant stuff?”_

_“Now she does, but she’s a doctor too and when Grandma got sick…” his voice trailed off at a memory flitting through his mind._

_I reached out and placed a hand on top of his where it rested on his knee._

I stared at Arnold’s two messages as the words tattooed themselves behind my lids.

 **FOOTBALLHEAD:** I doubt you want to hear from me, but I want you to know I’ve missed talking to you.

 **FOOTBALLHEAD:** A lot.

_Arnold flipped his hand over to lace his fingers with mine and gave my hand a tight squeeze. “I’ve never had to do anything harder than take care of Grandma after her accident.” He shook his head at the memory before continuing. “If it wasn’t for my mom’s help, I wouldn’t have been able to spend so much time with her before she died.”_

_“By taking care of her?” I asked as he nodded his head in response. “Didn’t it make you see her differently to…to SEE her like that?”_

_He shrugged his shoulders while looking out to the street ahead of us. “If anything, I learned more about my grandma just by taking care of her like that. You see people at their weakest and most vulnerable and-and when somebody is like that, you see them apart from their interests and hobbies- that personality they put out for the world to see. You just see them as THEM. As a person.”_

My hands sweat as I messily typed out my late-reply to Arnold; my heart palpitating with each letter I tapped with my thumbs.

_“You haven’t seen people for who they really are withOUT them being on their death beds before?” I asked with a raise of my brow, and Arnold shook his head, a small smile lining his lips._

_“I have. With one person.”_

_I stared at him as he sat beside me; my heart suddenly racing in my chest. He turned to look at me, his green eyes searching mine for the person_ I _really was; the vulnerable Helga he knew hid somewhere beneath my skin._

 **ME:** I’ve missed you too

My finger hovered over the ‘SEND’ button, beckoning me to tell Arnold what I desperately wanted to say.

_Arnold leaned into me, his lips headed for mine, before moving to kiss me softly on the cheek. I fluttered my eyes open (not realizing I’d even shut them in the FIRST place) and watched him incredulously as he stood up from the stoop._

_“Talk to your sister, Helga,” he said while turning around to walk back into my house so he could check on Olga. Before leaving me outside completely, he stopped at the door and turned around once more to look at me with a sly smile. “And quit smoking? I’d really like to kiss you next time.”_

I pressed my finger down on the button and watched as the letters I’d typed disappeared one by one before the entire message screen was empty. Then, I held the button of my phone to turn it off and return back inside to hide in my room until Phoebe came home.

I missed Arnold, I really did.

But for the sake of HIM, for the sake of his FUTURE and what mine would inevitably become, I had to let him go.

I had to let him go like I’d let Olga go… but this time, I wouldn’t fight it.


	9. Eight

Nearly a week had passed after Arnold’s message had popped up on my phone and I had done fairly well ignoring the guy, if I do say so myself. Granted, I stared at his message constantly each and every day and, in my down time, planned various responses I could send him though never actually did, but besides all the wasted obsessing, I had kept my inner desires to contact Arnold at bay.

It was miserable.

Each day I went through the motions of normalcy, for Gerald and Phoebe’s sake that is. I woke up at eleven, ate some cereal, mindlessly watched a game show or two, wandered back to my room, napped, woke up, ate dinner, went back to bed and then fell asleep only to wake up and do the whole thing over again the next day.

My life had become a never-ending rut of the same dull path.

But I was fine. I was alright.

I’d become content living my pathetic-excuse-for-a-life on auto-pilot like I’d learned how to do best ever since the day Olga sat us down and delivered the news that changed absolutely everything. 

_“Mommy? Daddy?” She glanced between Bob and Miriam before scanning over the room to meet me with teary eyes. “My sweet, baby sister,” she cooed and I forced myself not to roll my eyes at the nickname I despised._

_“Oh brother,” I grumbled to myself; Bob shooting me a glare before returning to look at Olga and gesture for her to continue._

_“What’s going on, Olga? For cripes sake, you’re scaring your old man, over here!” He exclaimed with a half-hearted laugh that Olga didn’t return._

_Instead, she sniffled dramatically and shook her head, “Of course not daddy, I just have something of great importance to tell you all,” she swallowed hard and looked down to her feet; something Olga rarely did and I furrowed my brow while watching her shift the weight back and forth between her two feet._

_“Well out with it already!” Bob reached up to rub at the left side of his chest anxiously, “Before you give me another heart attack or something!”_

_“Oh, daddy!” She squeaked out before sobbing directly into her hands and dropping to her knees onto the beige carpet beneath her._

_Immediately, Bob leapt from where he’d been sitting in his chair to rush to Olga’s side. “Criminy! Olga!” He shouted as Miriam followed suit to sit at Olga’s other side and gently brush her fingers through her blonde hair._

_“Oh honey,” Miriam cooed, “What’s going on? What happened, sweetie?”_

_I remained seated with my legs crossed while watching what seemed like a live-action soap opera unfold before my eyes. Olga wept into her hands; her shoulders heaving with every loud cry she directed into her palms._

_With a sigh, I crossed my arms over my chest and observed as Olga, who was completely choked up by her own dramatics, sniffled again and said with a broken tone, “I-I-I went to th-the doctor, today…”_

_Bob and Miriam exchanged a look before returning their gazes back to their beloved daughter; Bob asking with a puzzled look suddenly washing over his face, “What’s going on, Olga? Those idiots overcharge you again or something?”_

_A weak laugh emitted from Olga as she dropped her hands from her face to fall into her lap. “No, it isn’t that – “_

_Bob frowned and angrily shouted over Olga, “Well than for God’s sake, girl, what is – “_

_“ – I have a tumor, daddy.” Olga finished; Big Bob’s words silenced immediately once the information Olga spoke had sunk in._

I sat on my bed while absentmindedly sucking on a hard candy that I’d found on my bedside dresser earlier that afternoon. Its sugary, sour sweetness stung my tongue as I rolled it around in my mouth; my brows scrunched in concentration as my thoughts drifted to that day Olga had told us everything.

_“A tumor?” Bob repeated as Miriam covered her mouth in silent shock. “As in… CANCER?”_

_Olga nodded her head solemnly while avoiding his eyes by staring ahead at the carpet in front of her. “In my brain.” Her right arm snaked up her body to gently touch at her head as if the area was tender and could hardly be touched. The blue of her eyes glimmered with brimming tears before she blinked them down her already-stained cheeks and shook her head once more. “They think that it’s…It’s already close to Stage Four.”_

The memory of her words from months ago bounced around in my head like angry wrestlers ricocheting off of the ropes in a ring. It echoed in my ears as if I’d heard her say them mere minutes ago, despite the fact that I knew she hadn’t.

Olga was gone and the memory was over. That was all that was left of her, those memories, and they played in endless loops constantly inside my mind. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t seem to shut off the movie of Olga’s death; her downward spiral haunting me from beyond the grave.

If I tried hard enough, I could picture her, hooked up to all those tubes in the hospital after her tumor-removing-surgery was a bust. She looked so weak, so tired and scarily enough, so GONE.

I stared at the wall ahead of me; images flashing before my eyes as I shut my lids to blanket myself in the false comfort of the darkness. It was in that abyss that the memories hid; the potency of each one’s unsavory content frightening themselves into oblivion until I feared the memories so much that I was forced to face them.

Forced to face her.

Forced to face my reality.

Forced to face _her_ reality.

I sat on my bed with my eyes closed and imagined Olga as she’d once been – that annoying, perky and perfect big sister I’d loathed since I learned she was the Pataki prize I’d never be – though the image was always overshadowed by what she’d become once the cancer took hold of her.

Each day had brought about a different Olga. I pictured each one succinctly in a time-lapse that brought tears to my shut eyes. They seeped under my lids to gently slide down my cheek before I reached up and wiped them away; ashamed of what they meant.

They meant I missed her.

They meant she meant more than I’d ever given her credit for.

They meant I was weak.

But worst of all, they meant I felt bad for her.

_I felt so bad for her._

_As hard as I tried to enjoy every moment of shaving the little that remained of my perfect sister’s golden locks, the reflection of her soft crying in the mirror ahead of me burned any joy that I could possibly take. The task of buzzing straight lines through her already thinned hair felt like razors ripping at my own skin._

_Before when I’d shaved her head, it was for a surgery that held the possibility of returning Olga to her former annoying glory; dooming me to a life of endless jealousy in Olga’s favor just as life had always given me._

_Now, shaving her head was the result of a treatment that wasn’t doing a damned thing besides forcing the inches of hair she’d grown back to wither and fall from her head that was still healing from the pointless surgery that was supposed to fix everything. Instead of anything being fixed, each medication, old wives tale and doctor’s visit only made Olga sicker and sicker; each day one of dry heaves and empty stomachs that were too poisoned by the chemo to digest any of the food I forced into her._

It was food I had to force into her MYSELF since Bob had run off searching the world for some kind of cure; Miriam only following along to try and forget her troubles with increasing amounts of Alcohol like she’d done on so many occasions before in times of hardship. 

All of that left me to take care of Olga by myself when I wasn’t at all qualified to do so, though I didn’t figure that out until I had to call Arnold after her first of the many seizures to come.

 _“What happened?”_ Arnold had asked and I flickered my eyes open from the memory; then stood up from my bed to wander towards the stacks of boxes still left unpacked from when I’d moved into Phoebe and Gerald’s place a month ago.

My eyes gravitated towards the darker of the boxes that I’d specifically hidden in the corner out of my sight.

_“She had a seizure,” I explained as Arnold and I ascended the stairs towards Olga’s bedroom where I’d left her lying on the floor. “These meds have her all out of whack though, so be warned.”_

_Arnold nodded his head before following me into Olga’s room where she still lay on the floor quietly groaning to herself. Calmly, Arnold walked towards her and kneeled at her side; his arm reaching up to gently rest on her shoulder._

_“Hi Olga,” he said with a soft, soothing voice; his tone relaxing me immediately. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Arnold- Helga’s friend from school.”_

_I rested my hands on my hips and sighed as the words left his lips. Olga nodded half-heartedly and with softly shut eyes, she turned as if to look over her shoulder at him and smiled. “He-Helg-Helga’s friend?”_

_Arnold returned the smile though she couldn’t see and softly patted her shoulder. “Yes, she called me because you had an accident. Do you know where you are?”_

_Olga shook her head and frowned, “The hospital?”_

_I swallowed the lump growing in my throat as Arnold continued to talk calmly to her as if she wasn’t a bald cancer patient who had just wet herself and seized on the floor. “No Olga, you’re in your room. You had a seizure, but it’s alright. You’re completely alright.”_

As if she’d been alright.

She was about as ‘alright’ as I had been secretly terrified that - as she jerked around haphazardly on the floor like a fish gasping desperately for water while on land - she was dying before my eyes in our empty childhood home.

But the seizures grew less scary with each new one she had. And for every one she had thereafter, Arnold was nearby ready to help calm her once she awoke dazed and confused from the shock of what the cancer had done to her brain.

That day, I took Arnold’s advice and talked to Olga- a conversation that ended with my breaking the bad news of Olga’s decision to her biggest of fans - Big Bob himself - the moment he returned home for the weekend.

_“What do you MEAN she’s stopping treatment?!” Bob hollered from the living room as I stood before him with my arms tightly crossed over my chest._

_“You heard me,_ Bob _,” I stated with acid dripping from my tone, “she’s DONE. No more of your chemo, don’t you see what it’s DOING to her?” I countered, though he didn’t want any of my logic._

_“It’s saving her LIFE, little lady and by telling her to stop, you are KILLING your sister!” The veins in his neck were popping from under his skin and the blood was rushing to his face, painting his features in a beat red. “You want that on your hands? You want your SISTER’s blood on your hands?”_

_“Of COURSE I don’t want your precious Olga dead, but, NEWSFLASH! She’s only getting sicker by the MINUTE! Don’t you care what SHE thinks? Don’t you care what SHE wants?”_

_Bob growled and clenched his fists tightly at his sides. “My Olga doesn’t want to DIE,” he insisted, “she’s a fighter and she’ll fight and WIN against this cancer, no sweat! You hear me? She’s a Pataki for cripes sake!”_

_I rolled my eyes, “Don’t you GET it? Open your EYES, Dad! Pataki or not, she can’t win at EVERYTHING! Even your perfect daughter can’t win against DEATH!”_

_“What are you SAYING? Huh?” He was stepping towards me with his eyes narrowed to pinholes staring in my direction. I clenched my jaw and prepared myself for what was sure to be one hell of a fight, though Olga’s stumbling down the steps cut our argument short._

_“Olga!” Miriam called out while going to help Olga from up off of the stairs where she’d fallen. “Honey, what are you doing out of bed?”_

_“Daddy,” she said while wobbling up to stand with mom’s help. “Daddy, I can’t live like this anymore.”_

_Bob turned around from me to look at her incredulously. “You can beat this, Olga,” he demanded rather than encouraged; a sour look taking over Olga’s usually soft features. “You WILL beat this-“_

_“No daddy, I won’t,” she said softly without a trace of humor in her eyes. “I’ve come to accept my fate and it’s time you did too. It’s okay.”_

_Miriam watched Olga with sad eyes, though she seemed to understand what it was Olga was trying to say; Bob remaining clueless to it._

_“Don’t let_ her _-“ he said while gesturing back towards me, ”convince you to give up. You’re my little winner, Olga.”_

_She shook her head with a frown. “Helga has nothing to do with this, daddy,” Olga pursed her lips for a moment before swallowing back a sob and continuing. “I’ve made my decision. And I’m stopping treatments.”_

Bob wouldn’t have it though. Despite her pleads with him to stay behind and let her live the rest of her life in peace, he continued to search fruitlessly for the magical cure that would take away the cancer that was already taking over Olga’s body. Looking back now, I guess it was just his way of coping with the eventual loss of the one person he loved most.

Miriam, unlike Bob, stayed behind after Olga decided to quit treatment. Of course her being in the house only pushed her on to drink more and more in an effort to block out the reality of her daughter dying a floor above her, but, once again, that’s just how _she_ decided to cope.

And me? What did MY coping skills bring me?

Arnold. My coping brought me glorious amounts of time with Arnold who was like an angel sent from above.

Each day he’d call to see if I needed any help, even though I always told him yes in some way or another. And, on the rare occasion I DID say no, Arnold was smart enough to know I meant ‘yes’ which basically means he was at the house constantly to help with Olga.

_The door opened and Arnold, carrying three bags full of groceries and medications of various kinds, walked in to see me sitting on the couch in the living room._

_“She asleep?” He asked and I switched the channel to a crime show on what I called the ‘Murder Channel.’_

_“Like the dead.” I paused and tossed a handful of popcorn into my mouth before saying mid-chew, “What, poor taste?”_

_“A little,” he stated before turning around to set the groceries down on the kitchen island. “Where’d your mom head to? Her meeting?”_

_I laughed heartily and kicked my feet up to rest on the glass coffee table ahead of me while tossing a few popcorn kernels up and into my mouth. “Yeah right,” I said before swallowing and digging my hand back into the microwave popcorn bag. “She’s probably at the bar, no doubt. That’s usually where she goes when she thinks she can hide the drinking from me and Olga. Though, it’s easier with her as of recently.”_

_Arnold raised his brow while standing to lean against the kitchen island. “What did she do today?” He asked, and I waved him over to sit beside me on the couch._

_“Pop a squat, Hair Boy. Take a load off for a second,” I encouraged and he hesitantly walked towards me to comply with my odd request. Once seated, I popped some more popcorn into my mouth before wiping my hands on my jeans and sitting upright from the couch to twist and look at Arnold directly. “I gave Olga her bath while you were gone.”_

_He eyed me for a moment as if waiting for me to continue. “Okay?”_

_“She nearly boiled her damn skin off.”_

_“Boiled?”_

_“Geez, Arnold, do I need to spell it OUT for you or something?” I exclaimed with agitation before taking a breath and deciding to explain myself. “She filled the whole tub with boiling hot water. She was red as a tomato by the time I walked into the room to check on her.”_

_Arnold looked at me with wide eyes and shook his head minimally. “Guess you’ll have to call the doctor and let him know,” he stated and I nodded my head while reaching for another handful of popcorn._

_“Already did. He recommends monitoring her more closely- of course. That’s ALWAYS his recommendation. Take some of the freedom away. Take that action away. Stop doing this. It’s like we’re PUNISHING the girl for having an incurable sickness!” I reached up to rub at my temples with my forefinger and thumb while shaking my head and forcing myself to take a deep breath._

_Once I let it out, I tried again with a softer tone. “_ He _says it’s a common side effect in the late stages, the loss of feeling or being able to distinguish hot and cold. Anyway, after I got her all dried off and back in bed, I asked if she knew how hot the water had been and she shook her head. Said that she just couldn’t feel the water._ She _thought the_ furnace _was out again.”_

But of course it _wasn’t_ out. Olga slowly lost most of her independence at that point. She couldn’t remember to do things she’d done her whole life like brush her teeth or even going to the bathroom at times. She’d struggle with writing things on her own and she couldn’t read the countless books she’d have us check out because she forgot the plot so quickly and at times, forgot how to read even simple words or simply didn’t understand the books at all.

It didn’t take long before she lost interest in most everything entertainment-wise. The pain meds she was on didn’t help much either. Mixed with her memory pills, she’d become a zombie. Most days she’d just sit in her room and listen to music while sleeping or staring off at the wall. She’d talk, of course, when we came in and offered her conversation, but other than that Olga merely sat silently in her room while the cancer devoured her from the inside out.

_“She’s gotten so thin, Arnold,” I said as I put the sandwich I’d carefully made for myself together._

_“Olga?” He asked and I rolled my eyes._

_“No, Mary Queen of Scots. YES Olga, ya nimrod.” I chewed thoughtfully before swallowing and continuing with my observations. “Haven’t you looked at her recently? She’s withering away.”_

_Arnold nodded and said sadly, “That’s just what happens, Helga.”_

_“I know,” I took another bite. “There’s not even any sense in making her food anymore,” I shook my head and frowned, “she won’t eat it. She’s not interested. She just SITS in there ALL DAY. DYING.”_

_Arnold pulled a stool out from under the kitchen island and moved to sit on it. “Well,” he started while reaching up to set his hands on the countertop and fold them within each other, “have you tried to put yourself in her shoes? How would you act with that kind of death sentence?”_

_I leaned one hand on the kitchen counter and turned to look at him skeptically.  “I certainly wouldn’t go spending my last few days up in my room MOPING, that’s for sure.”_

_“Even if you were as sick as she is? She’s in a lot of pain, Helga. Her body is literally shutting down on her.”_

_“What, you think I don’t KNOW that?” I demanded before taking another bite and talking with my sandwich as I gestured. “Criminy, she’s on pain meds and that’s what those stupid things are FOR, aren’t they? For pain?”_

_Arnold sighed and looked at me expectantly. After a moment, I continued where I’d left off. “Those meds should allow her to get off her ass and go explore the world. THAT’s what I’D do; travel the world and see as much of it as I could before I up and croaked.”_

_“So if you had terminal cancer, you’d want to hike up hills, get on and off of planes, all in that condition? You don’t think it’d be incredibly hard and exhausting?”_

_“I’d find a way-“_

_“Would you, Helga? Would you really?” He stared at me intently and I knew I wouldn’t._

_I knew_ she _wouldn’t._

 _It was hard enough for Olga to get up to bathe and it was quite the process transporting her to and from the hospital for doctor’s visits. I couldn’t_ imagine _lugging her around in this condition halfway across the world. Arnold was right, as much as she maybe_ wanted _to get up and do things, she never could in the condition she’s in._

_Like I’d just said, she was wasting away before our eyes. Someone who’s like that can’t just get up and achieve all their dreams on their own. Heck, by trying to do such a thing, it’d probably only make it all worse and kill her even faster than the cancer just by itself._

_Despite what I knew, I played dumb and coaxed Arnold on. “What’s your_ point _anyway, footballhead? Go ahead. Enlighten me with your giant-headed wisdom. I KNOW she can’t go and do all that stuff, geez.”_

_“Then why are you judging her for how she’s choosing to spend her last days? You don’t think maybe this IS what she wants to do?” He asked and I took the last remaining bite of my sandwich and shrugged._

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“Seeing her family? Spending time with you? You don’t think this is how she wants it?”_

_I rolled my eyes and shook my head while coming over to Arnold and leaned on the counter of the kitchen island to look at him more directly. “Spending time with me, huh?” I pursed my lips before pushing away from the kitchen island and making my way towards the stairs leading to Olga’s room._

_Just as I approached the landing, I turned around to look at Arnold who still sat on the stool watching me. “She’s just stuck with me, Arnold,” I said with a sigh. “Prized daughter or not, apparently I’m the only one not fucked-up enough to step up to the plate and take care of her. It’s not spending TIME together, okay? It’s… it’s watching her waste away into nothing. It’s watching her slowly disappear and leaving me here to deal with all the shit that’ll get kicked up once she’s gone. That’s-that’s it.”_

_“Maybe there’s a reason it’s you taking care of her,” Arnold offered and I smirked while crossing my arms over my chest._

_“What, like fate or something?” I laughed once and glared at him though he only looked at me warmly with that seductive half-lidded gaze of his. “What could the powers that be possibly have in mind with this worthless hand of cards, huh?”_

_Arnold shrugged. “Good things come out of everything, Helga.”_

_“Everything? Really? You’re gonna go with that, silver-linings boy? THAT’s the advice your dishing out today?” I waved a careless hand at him and turned back around to head up the stairs. “Try again, Arnoldo,” I hollered back to him as I disappeared from his sight at last._

I reached up and lifted the box covering the one underneath it that had my name written on it in bold, black lettering. Dropping the other box beside it, I placed my hands on my hips and sighed while deciding if I wanted to open up this can of worms today, or not.

If it were Arnold, he would have opened it up ages ago, unlike me. He was so much more _noble_ than me and so much more _sentimental_ than me and so much more _stupid_ than me. Only a fool would open up that box in curiosity, merely to regret the decision minutes later. The contents of this box were sure to hurt me and bring up things I never wanted to think about in the first place.

It was easier just to ignore it all.

I didn’t need anything else to remind me of what had happened and who wasn’t in my life anymore; Olga and Arnold both respectively. At least the latter was by my _own_ choice, though it’d been harder seeing as I was so used to seeing him every day when we were taking care of Olga.

His mom had taught him so much in the likes of taking care of people. There would have been NO WAY I could have nursed Olga the way Arnold had. He was so calm and understanding of all of her problems. He had no issue just sitting in her room, visiting, helping her with whatever odd job she had for him in preparation for her death. It was morbid, yea, but Arnold had such grace in doing it, it was kind of amazing and fascinating to watch the kid.  

 But as grateful as I secretly was to have him helping me so much, I just couldn’t figure out _why_ he was so eager to help out with the shell of the person Olga had become. He told me his parents thought it was honorable of him to want to help me so often; I thought it was foolish.

Why would anyone want to spend so much time with me and my dying sister anyway?

I stared at the box ahead of me; my own name staring back at me from where it had been written in marker months ago. Slowly reaching out, I traced my fingertips over Arnold’s handwriting on the cardboard’s top flap; the memory of the countless days Arnold spent with Olga and I in Bob’s absence and Miriam’s drinking washing over me like a cool bath sending shivers up my spine.

_“Knock, knock,” I said with two raps on Olga’s door; both Arnold and her voices greeting me to come in. “What are you doing on the floor, Arnoldo?” I asked once I was inside the room._

_He turned around and smiled at me while holding up a black marker in his left hand. “We’re labeling boxes. Care to join?”_

_I smirked and closed the door behind me to walk further into the room. “Yeah, why not. It isn’t like I have anything_ better _to do.”_

With a huff, I lifted the box up and moved it to the front of the stack of boxes; my name tattooing itself to my memory like it had the first time I saw it written on the box.

_“And why does THIS one have my name on it?” I asked while pulling the box towards myself; Arnold instantly stopping me from doing so. “Hey- what gives?”_

_“It’s for-“ he began with struggle in his voice; Olga cutting in to finish for him._

_“It’s for after,” she said matter-of-factly. “For after I’m gone that is.”_

And sure enough, it had been, as the box made its reappearance in the lawyer’s office just days after Olga’s death. I’d ignored it obviously, my interest more in the million dollar check she’d left me which was deposited immediately into my account. The box, however, was deposited into my closet where it had stayed until I moved out a month ago and brought it here where it sat in the corner, far away from my line of sight.

I didn’t want to know what was in this box. I didn’t want to know what stupid thing it was Olga had left me in an effort to get me to feel all bad for her when she’d only ever made my life a living hell on Earth.

Up until she got sick, that is, and even THEN her presence made life feel pretty hellish seeing as her little tumor was on a warpath to changing everything Olga ever had been. My once overly-perfect sister with her cheerful disposition had been shattered into a nit-picky, angry woman who- at times -forgot even who I was.

_“You just HAD them Olga, criminy!” I said while throwing my hands in the air with exasperation._

_Olga stared at me blankly before pursing her lips and taking a breath. “Then why do I still feel so absolutely horrid?”_

_I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and frowned. “BeCAUSE, you only just took them.” I tried to steady myself to a calmer state and unclenched my jaw. “Those kind of things take a little to kick in.”_

_Olga rolled her eyes. “It’s like you aren’t even trying,” she whined._

_Completely agitated, I clenched my fists at my side and glared at her from where I stood at the end of her bed. “Like I’m not….even… TRYING?!” I yelled, making Olga jump slightly from where she sat. “Olga, I have practically given YOU, YOU of all people, my LIFE. I get you your damn expensive and weird vegan foods, I make sure you have enough medications and that you’re comfortable- even though you tell me every four seconds to move this and adjust this and blah, blah, blah I mean CRIMINY, between Arnold and I, you have everything you could ever ask for! You’re lucky he cares so damn much to want to help your sorry ass.“_

_“Arnold, yes? Arnold is the reason why you want to help me anyway, isn’t it?” She accused which sent me into a blind fury._

_“ARE YOU JOKING?” I screamed while gripping the end of her hospital bed’s railing and leaning in towards her. “I WISH that’s why I was doing this! It’d be a lot easier to just-“_

_Olga raised a hand to stop me mid-sentence and said through a tired sigh, “You should go,” she said with a sense of calm, “I’d like to die in peace…” She paused. “Olg…” her voice trailed off and I raised a brow as she scrunched her eyebrows together tightly. “No, no” she mumbled to herself, “that’s my name…”_

_I stood dumbfounded and frozen in place as Olga looked down to her lap and struggled with her diseased brain, “I… Ing….” She let out a huff before reaching up to rub at her sunken eyes. “I can’t remember your name,” Olga admitted before resorting back to sobs in her hands._

_“Helga,” I said while swallowing back emotion that was climbing its way up my throat. “It’s Helga. And I’m your sister.”_

_“My sister… my sweet baby sister…” Olga repeated, but I didn’t stick around long enough to hear her next words. Angrily, I spun around to storm out the door and shove past Arnold who was on his way into the room with a glass of water._

_“Helga?” He asked with confusion and I shook my head while booking it to my room just down the hall._

_“Yeah, that’s my name, BUCKO. Unless YOU forgot too.” I spat the words out at him before slamming the door behind me once I was in the safety of my room._

_SLAM!_

SLAM!

I dropped the box with my name on it directly into the closet and slid the door closed to hide it from my sight. With a triumphant brush of my hands against each other, I nodded once to the shut closet door and stepped through the remaining sea of boxes on the floor to approach my bedroom window; the dark hue of night painting the backdrop of Hillwood where it sat just beyond the glass.

I reached out and, with all my strength, pushed the old window up to allow in the chill wind of the crisp fall air to swirl about in my room; goosebumps pricking my skin as the wind kissed my bare flesh that was exposed from my tshirt and ripped jeans. I hopped backwards at the open air as it pushed me from the window. My hair danced across my face in a tangled mess and I reached up to smooth out the strands that were angrily entwining themselves in one another.

 After my body had adjusted to the temperature of the sudden open air, I approached the window again slowly; the sounds of the distant city gradually becoming louder with each step I took in its direction.

The white window pane acted as a picture frame to the deep azure sky as it colored between the lines of the various buildings. They dotted the horizon; each structure’s dark shadow only adding to the glorious image of the once great city that I had loved to live in mere months ago.

But as I looked at the world from my bedroom window, it appeared dull and lackluster as if the colors had somehow faded in the days that had passed since I’d last given my eyes the chance to look at the sky. It had all been so beautiful and now, it all looked so… dead.

I rested my elbows on the ledge of the window and leaned my head outside as if the mere inches I’d added would somehow allow me a better view of Hillwood. My eyes focused on the lights blinking from the buildings ahead; their glimmers once so stunning as they twinkled but now only appearing half as brilliant and bright as my memory had recalled. Soon, my eyes were deadlocked on the landscape as the night settled itself onto the city which began to reawaken before me; the city lights spreading like cancer on the skyline.

Before I knew it, the entire landscape had illuminated itself in near record timing; just like the cancer that had destroyed Olga’s body and the entire Pataki family.

And mine and Arnold’s relationship.

No, I’d done that to myself.

_A knock on the recently-slammed door made me jump from where I stood by my bedroom’s window; my eyes lost in the mid-day horizon as countless others went about their average day in our average city._

_“Helga, what was that all about?” Arnold asked once he’d opened the door and I sighed while reaching up to wipe away the few tears that had begun to sprout up in my eyes._

_“What was WHAT about?” I asked as angrily as I could muster, which wasn’t hard given the circumstances._

_“Olga was crying when I went into her room,” he continued while taking tentative steps toward me on the carpet of my childhood room. “She wouldn’t tell me why.”_

_I rolled my eyes and put my hands to rest on my hips. “Pfft, yeah, I probably wouldn’t want to admit it either.”_

_It didn’t take long for Arnold to appear at my side as we stood in front of the window; my eyes still focused out the small opening as Arnold’s remained hot on me. “Helga…”_

_“You wanna know something, Hair Boy?” I asked loudly before turning my head to shoot Arnold an undeservingly pointed glare. “You are practically the ONLY person in my LIFE who seems to remember my name, did you know that?”_

_He continued to watch me though offered no response. After a beat, I looked away from him and continued._

_“Other than my stinkin’ SISTER, of course, who can’t even seem to do THAT nowadays.”_

_Arnold remained silent though continued to watch me without distraction; his gaze locked on me as I continued to ramble while still staring out at our city. “I mean TRUST ME, I get it, the whole ‘her brain is rotting itself away and thus killing who she is’ and all, but they said it would be the SHORT TERM stuff she wouldn’t remember. Not-not…THIS!” I exclaimed while pushing myself away from where I’d been leaning out the window._

_I stood up and began to pace the length of my room as Arnold stared on while continuing to watch in silence like a fly on my wall. “It’s not that I’m not USED to it or anything, I mean CRIMINY my dad hasn’t called me by my proper name for years now, but OLGA? Come ON! NEVER in the history of EVER has she ONCE forgotten my name or my birthday or hardly anything about me since the day I was BORN.”_

_Stopping mid-pace, I pivoted to face Arnold again and point authoritatively in his direction. “Did you know it was OLGA who first discovered I was allergic to strawberries?” He looked at me blankly which was all the coaxing I needed to continue. “OH yeah. She baked this pretty little cake with strawberries alllllll inside of it and strawberry frosting all around it too; she’d decked the cake out to the NINES. It was STUNNING. She’d taken some cake-decorating class and wanted to show off her skills at her baby sister’s birthday shindig.”_

_With an eye roll and a crossing of my arms, I said through mock-laughter. “Little three-year-old Helga comes crawling up to the cake, right? And she shoves her face into it like any OTHER dumb toddler, and do you remember what happened, Arnoldo? You were there.”_

_Arnold shook his head slowly as I talked over him, knowing he wouldn’t remember. “I proceeded to balloon up bigger than any of the fancy balloon animals that the clown had twisted up all in_ my _honor.”_

_I shook my head and wandered to lean against my bed while continuing my story to the ever-silent Shortman ahead of me. “Of course, dear old Mom and Dad were too BUSY boasting about Olga’s incredible party-planning skills to even notice I’d had some sort of reaction BUT, thanks to my award-winning sis and her babysitter’s knowledge which she’d learned in her 8 th grade First-Aid and CPR class,” I shrugged my shoulders, “she was the hero and saved the day. She saved MY day.” I shook my head and offered a weak laugh. “She was the only one who seemed to remember after that, too.” _

_Arnold let out a breath before slowly walking towards the bed to sit beside me quietly. “She forgot who you were, didn’t she?” His words were calm and careful, even though he already knew my answer._

_“Why is it that I’m SO forgettable? Huh?” The words flew out of my mouth angrily; the words flowing out thereafter unstoppable and uncensored. “Heck, I’m so forgettable that a symptom she shouldn’t even be HAVING is happening and it’s all at MY fucking expense.” I shook my head in frustration as Arnold sighed beside me, almost wishing he didn’t have to tell me his next series of words._

_“Brain diseases are really weird, Helga. A doctor can predict most of the common symptoms, yes, but for the most part, everybody seems to go through their own unique set of symptoms; some of which are harder to cope with than others.” He was so understanding and spoke delicately, each of his words resonating within me enough to relax my muscles that had unknowingly been tensed up in my body since the incident happened mere minutes ago._

_I softly shut my eyes and swallowed some of the excess saliva that had been building up in my mouth. “That’s a pretty astute answer from an unlicensed football-head,” I remarked though he merely shrugged beside me; I could feel his shoulders brush against mine as he did so._

_“Mom told me that,” he said softly before saying, even softer yet, “when Grandma got really…bad. With the Alzheimer’s and everything. She was…” he searched for the proper word though he merely shook his head and settled on,” she seemed crazy.”_

_My eyes shot open and I turned my head to look at Arnold as he zoned off in the distance at the wall of my room._

I remembered when Arnold’s grandma had died the year after we graduated High School. He was distraught over the whole thing, and rightfully so. He hardly left the boarding house after it all happened and he’d been a total mess at her funeral, not with the tears though. No, Arnold was the kinda guy who just sort of kept everything to himself in the feelings-department.

The whole gang had gotten together to support him through that hard time- even me. The funeral was a riot though with all the balloons and popcorn stands and a full band for dancing afterwards on top of the roof. They even ended it all with a huge fireworks display which went well into the night. It was exactly the way she would have wanted it; Arnold had told me then. But even so, he hadn’t coped with the whole thing very well, though he’d done a hell of a better job than I currently was.

But what else could he do? The woman was amazing from everything I knew and had seen of her; she was a real firecracker, and above all such a huge influence in his life. Gertie had taught him so many things, more things than I’m sure I even knew of. It had nearly killed Arnold to lose her.

 _“Your grandma,” I began cautiously, “she was_ always _kind of zany though, wasn’t she?” I asked and Arnold smirked at the comment._

_“Zany, yes. But towards the end, she…changed.”_

_“Changed? What do you mean?” I asked immediately; my eagerness for his answer an instinct I had no control over in trying to hide. “She uh-“ I tried to recover, “she get all angry like Olga’s been?”_

_Arnold furrowed his brows and shook his head while looking down at his hands and closely inspecting his palms. “She became even more forgetful. The nicknames- they weren’t playful anymore. She-she couldn’t remember who I was or that my dad was her son; she couldn’t even remember who Grandpa was anymore… it really took a toll on him most of all.”_

_I nodded my head while watching him strip down his own walls for me; something Arnold rarely did as he was usually busy trying to break down my own._

_“We’d all taken care of her, nobody more than my mom. She told me she felt like she’d missed out on so much after being in the jungle for so long and that she regretted not getting to know the Shortman family more.” His words were shaky, the very content of them seeming to throw the usually level-but-giant-headed blonde I’d loved for so long off. We’d never TALKED like this before._

_Usually, it was about me. Usually it was Arnold giving the pep talks when negativity sprang about between the two of us. But this time it was him who needed me, and I reached out to set my hand gently on his shoulder._

_“She at least got time with her though, right? You all did?”_

_Arnold turned to look at me and smiled. “Yea, we all did. It’s sad that death seems to be one of the only things to bring everybody together but…sometimes it happens that way for a reason I guess.”_

_“Maybe,” I half-heartedly agreed while turning to blankly look over my shoulder away from Arnold; my hand slipping off of his shoulder to rest softly in my lap._

_“You’re lucky though,” he stated matter-of-factly and I snapped my head to shoot him a deadly glare._

_“LUCKY? Gee, and how did you end up with THAT incredibly delusional conclusion?” The words were threatening; begging him to answer what I would no doubt think to be wrong no matter HOW he worded it._

_Arnold watched me for a long moment before turning away once more to look ahead at my wall but somehow seeming to see through the drywall and into another dimension; into his own memories themselves._

_“Olga’s flickering. Like a light, you could say. While it’s been dimming with the disease, the light remains on most of the time- unless it flickers. For just a split second in time, she forgets everything and it’s like somebody went into her brain and shut the light off. But it always turns itself back on. Usually, at least.”_

_I raised a brow while eyeing him curiously. “What exactly are you getting at?”_

_He licked his lips for a moment as he remained lost in thought before sighing and finally saying, “Grandma’s light just…shut off. One day she knew what was going on, at least as much as she usually did, and then the next… she didn’t.”_

_Silence filled the room for a long moment; nearly an entire minute passing before either of us said anything._

_It was me who broke that silence with my loud mouth and uncensored idiocy as I mused aloud, “That can HAPPEN with Alzheimer’s?”_

_Arnold nodded his head, seemingly unphased by my exclamation of thoughts. “Yeah. We didn’t even realize it was coming. One morning, Grandpa woke up to the bed soaking wet under him and when he tried to wake Grandma up, she didn’t remember who he was, so she pushed him off of the bed nearly breaking his hip again. She then tried to climb out the window and kept saying something about needing to go back to the farm. Of course by then we’d all heard the commotion and tried to coax her out of the window at that point, and we did, but that light just never seemed to turn back on after that. No matter what we did she was angry and yelled profanities at us because she thought we were lying. She thought it was 1921 and couldn’t seem to get control of herself when we told her it wasn’t. She didn’t even realize we were in Hillwood or that she was safe with us. It was really shocking to see.”_

_My jaw dropped. Gertie was so nice and, even when she was going a bit haywire around the house, she always treated you as though she knew who you REALLY were, only preferred to call you something else for her own entertainment. But the Gertie that Arnold was describing seemed confused and entirely lost to the world which was something she never was, zaniness and all._

_“Wow…” was all I managed, though Arnold continued as if knowing what I’d really wanted to ask._

_“After that, we went to the doctor and they put her on some meds that completely took away her identity. Sure, they made her calmer and easier to take care of seeing as she needed our help with everyday tasks that she’d forgotten how to do, but she stopped talking and soon only responded when asked basic questions, though sometimes she didn’t seem to understand even those.”_

_I remained quiet as Arnold recollected the stories I’d never asked to hear but felt honored to be told. I imagined Gerald was one of the only friends he’d ever confessed this kinda stuff to and it felt good to know Arnold trusted me enough to share his feelings with ME of all people._

_“Then one day,” he went on, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke though he sniffled his emotions away, “she just stopped eating. She couldn’t get herself out of bed and she stopped responding to us when we talked to her. She was like a zombie in a movie or something; a shell of the person we all knew and loved and cared for. It wasn’t long after that that she just didn’t wake up one day and we knew it was over.”_

_Silence filled the room for almost an entire minute; the longest minute of my life. I couldn’t imagine the pain his family had gone through by losing Gertie, even more so now after hearing how it all happened. I knew she’d gone downhill fast, but I never realized it had been like that._

_A yearning took over my soul then, like a warm blanket. My entire body ached with Arnold as he bore his heart to me and I suddenly wanted to comfort him in every possible way I knew how. I wanted to pull him into me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him to my chest. I wanted to stroke his beautiful oblong shaped head and softly whisper that everything would be alright, though I knew they never would. I wanted nothing more than to take all of his pain away, but I knew it was hopeless to do such a thing._

_So instead, I reached out and took Arnold’s hand, boldly, and squeezed it as tightly as I could. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that, Arnold. Gertie was a great woman.”_

_Arnold smiled and looked over to me without moving his head in my direction. “Thank you, Helga. She really was.”_

_I glanced down at Arnold’s hand which was still being firmly gripped by mine. I stared at our fingers as they wrapped around each other in a knot of flesh which connected our two bodies together as one. Noticing my gaze, Arnold squeezed my hand back and I looked up to find his eyes immediately meeting mine in a dead lock. “I’m sorry_ you _have to go through_ this _,” he emphasized the words and I chewed on my lip as he continued; his hand still enveloped by mine. “But I’m glad I’ve been able to help, even if it’s just a little.”_

_I shook my head while blush rose to fill in my pale cheeks. “Don’t be crazy, football-head, you’ve…you’ve helped a lot. A lot more than I’d like to admit.”_

_He chuckled and waved me off with his free hand. “I’m going to take that as a thank you and say you’re welcome, Helga. It was my honor.”_

_I raised a brow at him, “Your honor? How do you figure?” The words weren’t exactly what I’d been hoping would come out of my mouth, but the question seemed to fit and I decided not to correct myself and wait to see what Arnold would say next._

_He thought for a moment, his lips pursing slightly as he delved into his thoughts for a proper answer to the question I’d posed him. Taking a breath first, and with slight hesitation, Arnold said, “For the first time since we’ve known each other, you really let me into your life. I remember when we had that brief stint of dating back when we were 10. After the trip to San Lorenzo and everything. After we’d found my parents?”_

_“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember. What about it?” I asked as my heart began to race in my chest at an impressive rate._

_“I mean, we were… we were so young and I didn’t know what entailed being a good boyfriend, or being romantic like you were or anything like that. It was all really scary to me that I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did and we were too ahead of our time and our classmates and everything and-“_

_I held a hand up in a stop sign and firmly cut him off. “Would you get to the point already, Arnold? You’re making auctioneers jealous with that speed and rambling you go going on, criminy!”_

_His cheeks flushed a bright shade of red as he looked directly at me and into my eyes. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s given me the chance to get to know you and your family. To see what makes you…you. And who you are, who you_ really _are.”_

_I laughed and shook my head while gesturing for him to explain. “And who is it you think I am, then? Really, that is.”_

_“You’re a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Helga.”_

_The smile fell from my face and I looked at him incredulously. “…what?”_

_Without missing a beat, Arnold explained. “You’re taking care of your sister as she’s dying, something nobody your age should have to do without proper help. Your parents are too afraid to deal with what she is going through and, as much as you claim to hate her, you can’t stand seeing her die without anyone there to help her through it. So YOU are doing it. You’re doing such a good job, Helga and frankly, it’s amazing._ You’re _amazing.”_

_All the saliva in my mouth dried up and I found that I was struggling for air. My heart threatened to beat out of my chest, though I sat stunned beside Arnold and stuttered out, “I-I-I’M amazing? Have you looked in a MIRROR lately, Arnold?”_

_It was Arnold’s turn to look surprised. “Huh?”_

_“Who just goes and helps some random person with their dying sibling?” I asked, my voice raising as I grew more nervous with each sentence I uncontrollably purged. “Like seriously, Arnold, you’re a complete whack-job to just go giving all your free time to a couple of dysfunctional sisters FOR FUN. I mean, who DOES that?”_

_“I do,” Arnold said calmly; absolutely no hint of humor in his voice or his hypnotizing gaze. “Because I care and because I want to help.”_

_Determined to get more of an answer out of him, I pressed onward, my voice growing more intense as I spoke. “But WHY? Tell me WHY you’re doing this because I have racked my brain and I JUST can’t seem to figure out your motives, Hair Boy. What are you getting out of this? I know it’s not money or fame cause I have none of that to offer you, I’m sorry to say.”_

_Arnold smirked and grinned a half-smile. “I know you don’t, Helga. That’s not what I’m after.”_

_I huffed a breath out and shot him an exhausted glare. “Then what? Seriously, Arnold.”_

_“The only thing I’m after,” Arnold began slowly, “is your friendship. I’m doing this because I really do want to help.”_

_“Oh.” I said, my heart stopping completely and dropping down into my stomach. It wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for, but exactly the answer I expected coming from goody-two-shoes and ever-noble Arnold._

_But he smiled and hesitantly added on, “And maybe sometime, someday, it would be nice if you wanted to try that whole dating thing again sometime. Since we’re much older, now.”_

_As if my body rewound itself, selfishly, my heart shot back up into my throat and I struggled to compose myself enough to answer. “I-I-you…we…huh?”_

_He reached up to rub anxiously at the back of his neck. “I know it’s not good timing but-“_

_“But nothing,” I said, sudden confidence flooding my voice. “You know, I uh… I haven’t smoked a cigarette all day today. All…all week actually.”_

_Arnold grinned, “Really? That’s-that’s great, Helga.”_

_“So I’m ready for that kiss,” I said boldly before backtracking immediately. “I mean... for old time’s sake and all.”_

_He chuckled as red swam up his neck and into his cheeks. “Sure, Helga. Whatever you say,” he managed before leaning in to me and closing the gap between us._

I blinked myself awake from the memory; the residue of his lips on mine stinging as if it had all just happened instead of months ago. He’d kissed me so softly, so earnestly and so carefully as if it was the first time our lips had ever met, though they had on plenty of other occasions before.

Selfishness washed over me at the thoughts of Arnold swarming through my mind. How could I DO that? How could I be THINKING this when I’d just lost my sister. My SISTER.

It was sick.

It was wrong.

It was more selfish than I’d ever been, which is saying a lot seeing as I’d spent practically my whole life begging for attention from seemingly everybody.

I couldn’t take the thoughts of everything that could have been. They clouded my mind in memories and fantasies of all the things I should have, had I allowed myself to have them. It was as if the mere memory alone of Arnold’s sweet, sweet kiss had opened up a Pandora’s box of demons which I’d worked hard to ignore over the past few months.

In sudden decision, I moved from the window to reach up and slam it shut; anger flooding my veins as I then locked it from opening its mouth again. Contorting my face into a determined expression, I spun around and grabbed my jacket from where it lay over the edge of my bed. Pulling it on, I stomped my way out of my room and practically raced to exit the apartment before Gerald or Phoebe could even THINK of trying to stop me.

I was going to run away from this.

I was going to shut the thoughts up, once and for all.

I’d had enough of this life.

And I knew, the moment I stepped into my car and started the engine, that I was going to drive away from all of this. As far as my wheels could take me. As far as the world would let me. As far as I could manage, I would drive and at the end of the road, THERE would be my answer.

I pulled out of the parking space in the lot of Gerald and Phoebe’s apartment and sped off in whatever direction my car told me to go.

I didn’t look back.


	10. Nine

Rain dotted the windshield of my car and I flipped on the wipers to smudge the water across the glass. It wasn’t much of a rain, hardly worth such a title, but the sound of it pitter-pattering above me as I drove was calming and allowed me to mindlessly drive across Hillwood with no destination in sight.

God only knows how much I didn’t want a destination.

Water splashed as I drove; my wheels gliding over the puddles in the divots of the road beneath me. The glow of the changing traffic lights burned at my eyes as I zoned out on the street ahead; my auto-pilot kicking in as I stopped at the appropriate times along the street.

It was late. Late enough that Hillwood was nearly empty, even on the busiest of roads. I pushed on the gas pedal as I drove absentmindedly; my hand dropping from the steering wheel to tap nervously on my lap while the other of my hands remained on the top of the circle it firmly held to direct myself forward and out of the town’s limits.

I didn’t care where I was going. Hell, I could have driven myself into a lake and never even known it until the water saturated my skin. I was just driving - driving to get away as if my problems were desperately trying to catch up to me though I knew no number of miles could separate my troubles from my mind.

She was in there.

Olga was stuck inside my head like a migraine that just wouldn’t go away. No amount of medications could shut her up and no distance of running away could ever lose her.

Didn’t mean I couldn’t _try_.

I drove onward, the roads beginning to wind as I picked up my speed the second the sign signaled me to do so. With a flick of my finger, I turned on the brights of my car and scanned the road for any animals, though they hardly frequented this particular stretch. I’d driven down here multiple times and knew that it wasn’t until reaching the golf course up ahead that you really had to watch for any sort of nature inhabitants scurrying across the road.

But sure enough, the darkened building of the golf club creeped up to me; it’s large sign still illuminated by the lights hidden in the grass just below it. Glancing between the road and the golf club, I watched as the building switched to large, open, verdant fields that made up the boasting 30-hole course I’d been to many times since Bob had switched clubs some 10 years ago. We’d even come here to celebrate Olga’s 30th birthday, her last milestone, though we’d never known it at the time.

The grassy hills soon turned to trees that dotted the landscape; their half-empty branches drawing spider webs over the moon which shined brightly in the darkened sky. Clouds began to wisp away the further I drove and it wasn’t long before the drizzle became sprinkles and soon dissipated entirely.

The darkness of night enveloped me as I continued to drive. I sped passed the suburbs of Hillwood that lay scattered across the land just outside one of the private schools the city held. Further yet, it soon morphed into open fields that were dying off in preparation for the upcoming winter. Leaves danced across the dying plants; the wind dragging them along haphazardly in the air until they settled to lay on the cold ground awaiting the next surge of wind to carry them away once more.

Desperate to feel the crisp air on my skin, I held down the window button allowing wind to suck itself into my car and brush through my hair; the strands angrily flying about in every which way over my eyes, nose and mouth alike. Reaching up, I brushed them to the sides and tucked the tendrils behind my ears that were just big enough to excel at this sort of thing, then stuck my hand outside the window to feel the cool breeze of the mid-October night.

Hairs stood on end of my skin as the wind slammed against the exposed flesh of my forearm. It slapped me like knives just sharp enough to cut the skin and relieve it all at the same time. Somehow…. it calmed me; the temperature itself enough to soothe the upset nerves that were going wild inside me from the frenzy of memories flooding through my system.  

Up ahead, roads began to appear- side roads that I rarely ever took. Without second thought, I slammed on my brakes and flipped on my blinker to sharply turn onto a random mysterious-looking road which claimed to take me to a town I’d never heard of.

Not like I cared.

Turn after turn I drove like this with only my natural born instincts leading as my GPS. I drove passed houses I’d never seen where families I’d never met lay inside sleeping. Each house held life after life that I’d never know of; each person living out their own personal struggles they thought to be the worst in the entire world.

That’s how the whole world works, after all.

We’re all just a series of people living out struggles we all think to be worse than our neighbors; even though there’s an entire world out there full of others just like us.

Who was I to think I was the only one being affected by cancer? Who was I to think I was the only one who’d lost their sister far before her time? Who was I to think I was any more hurt than the Jones’ or the Smith’s or the Smittywerbenmanjenson’s?

I pressed on the pedal as I took another turn from a gravel road onto a paved one and sped onward.

Who was I to think I was the only one suffering from heartbreak? From love they’d lost intentionally? Who was I to think that my love for Arnold was any more special than Sally’s love for Jack? Or Lindsey’s love for Brandi? Or Jimmy’s love for Joe? Or anyone’s love for ANYONE, for that matter?

Up ahead, bright red lights flashed downward and I eased on my brake as I came up to the railroad thundering with the sound of an oncoming train. With a sigh, I came to a stop and yanked my gear into park before collapsing backwards further into my seat and staring blankly out as the boxcars rattled by.

Sprinkles of rain began to dot my windshield and I leaned forward to look out and up at the sky through my window; the clouds from miles ago somehow finding me again where I waited at the tracks. Softly, they tapped above me in a rhythm of their own – a rhythm like that of the impatient nails of a receptionist on the wood tabletop of her desk.

TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAPTAPTAPTAP.

_TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAPTAPTAPTAP._

_The red-haired beehive-wearing lady smacked her gum in her mouth as she tapped her long blood-red painted fake nails on the countertop of her desk. Her blue eyes lazily looked at the computer screen ahead of her as she searched for my sister’s name while I stared at her impatiently._

_“You uh… you find the room she’s in or what?” I urged while adjusting my weight from my left foot to my right and crossing my feet at the ankle as I stood to lean on the counter separating me from the annoyed receptionist. “It’s just that she’s not even SUPPOSED to be in here or anything, and I’d like to talk to her and find out who the hell is responsible for her ending up here in the FIRST place.”_

_The receptionist – whose name was Brenda, which I’d read on her name badge – glanced over at me and through her glasses which were slid down to just above her nostrils. “Ma’am, if you could just be patient, I’m doing my best to find which room your sister is in.” Her tone was singular and she seemed bored dealing with me; clearly read for her lunch break which I’m sure was approaching given as it was nearing noon._

_“Let’s see,” she said mindlessly while clicking a few times on her mouse before nodding her head and pointing to a spot on the far right of her screen. “Pataki, Olga…” she said before tapping twice with the sharp tip of her acrylic nail on the same spot and announced without much expression, “Room 251.”_

_Without so much as a thank you, I nodded my head to her and took off for the elevators which were just around the corner._

HONNNNNNNNNNNNK! A car’s horn blared from behind me and I nearly jumped two feet in the air from where I sat in the driver’s seat at the now empty train tracks.

“Yeah, yeah,” I yelled while glaring at the shining lights reflecting out of my rear-view mirror, “I’m going, I’m going. Just keep your panties on, criminy!”

Quickly taking my car out of park, I sped onward, over the railroad tracks and then onto another random road which looked vaguely familiar.

_I knocked on the door to room 251 and walked in despite the lack of answer. “Olga?” I asked quietly in case she was sleeping like she usually did these days._

_Much to my surprise, she was seated upwards in her bed and smiling in my direction; a sight I hadn’t seen in what felt like ages. “Helga!” she called out to me while setting down the mug of water she’d been sipping out of. “How is my sweet baby sister doing?”_

_Raising a brow, I shoved my hands into my jeans’ front pockets and shrugged, “I was about to ask you the same thing. Why are you even in here? Wouldn’t you rather be at home?”_

_Olga’s expression drooped slightly and she pursed her lips sadly before taking a breath and saying, “Daddy thought maybe I should be somewhere… more… equipped to handle my condition.”_

_“But you’re on hospice,” I said flat-out while taking my hands out of my pockets to cross them tightly over my chest. “_

_“Helga, he’s just-“_

_“Been trying to control your ENTIRE LIFE, and now he’s trying to control how you DIE. Doesn’t that BUG you, Olga? I know you’re not dumb, so you must just be blind.” The words came out angrily and seemed to take Olga off-guard. With a tired smile, she gestured for me to come in further into the room._

_“Come sit by me, Helga. I’d like to talk to you.”_

I pressed on the gas pedal harder as I winded around the road through the shadows of the night; my eyes glued ahead on the road though my mind continued to wander far into my subconscious.

_With hesitation and a curious look, I uncrossed my arms and made my way to the faux leather chair sitting just beside Olga’s bed. Once I took a seat and twisted to face her, she took a breath and smiled sadly in my direction._

_“Helga, I’m dying.”_

_I eyed her carefully before looking away from her to focus on the shoes I was wearing- my usual white converse covered in dirt and mud stains. “Yeah. And?”_

_“And,” she continued, “when you’re dying, you, you look at situations differently than say someone like you who will, I hope, live a long and fruitful life.”_

_Glancing up to her out the corner of my eye, I wrinkled my nose in irritation. “What are you getting at.” I demanded._

_“Daddy needs me in here, Helga,” she concluded quietly. “He thinks I’m safer here and that, if something were to happen, they could save me easier than you and Arnold could.”_

_“So what?” I asked angrily. “So you can go on for a few more months MISERABLY rather than dying in peace at home without all these…WIRES and beeping machines?”_

_Olga nodded her head sadly. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”_

_“You’re being ridiculous,” I concluded, though Olga merely shook her head._

_“I’m being considerate.”_

_“Considerate?” I exclaimed. “To whom, may I ask? Our parents who are beyond hopeless, might I add? What’s the point in being considerate to THEM?”_

_Olga smiled warmly and reached out to softly touch my forearm with her cool fingers. “Because they’ll be the ones left once I’m gone. You too, but I know you’re stronger than they are. There’s no doubt in my mind you’ll be alright once I’ve left you.”_

_“You don’t know anything,” I muttered while snatching my arm away from her and she sighed before adjusting in her bed._

_“Helga, you don’t need to be so angry,” Her words were tentative; fearful of the reaction I’d have at their content._

_In true Helga G. Pataki style, I snapped my head to turn and glare at her. “Angry? You think I’m ANGRY?” I shouted the words at her though she refused to react. “I’m FURIOUS. I’m mad that you think you have to be in here just to please THEM. It’s ALWAYS to please them, isn’t it Olga? That’s what it’s ALWAYS been. What about yourself? What about me? What about everyone else out there who is rooting for you? Shouldn’t you go on your OWN terms? Shouldn’t YOU be the one to choose how YOU want to die for cripes sake?!”_

_I stood up from the chair and shook my head while making my way towards the door. “I’m not doing this. Have fun dying, Olga. Make a good show of it- for their sake. After all, I’ll be just fine. You’ve made that perfectly clear to me now.”_

My eyes relaxed from staring intently out at the darkened road ahead of me and I dropped one of my hands which had been unknowingly squeezing the wheel so hard my knuckles had turned white.

I never talked to Olga again. Not _with_ her at least.

Soon after that conversation in the hospital, Olga went into a coma, about an hour or so after my visit to be precise. Naturally, Bob yelled at the poor nurse calling us to let us know, whereas me? I sat numb in my room trying to avoid the inevitable.

But I couldn’t get away from that stupid feeling in my gut telling me I should go and see her one last time.

I blinked rapidly to readjust my attention ahead of me on the road. The last thing I needed was to get into some accident, although, with the level of tragedy currently residing in my parents I doubt they’d even bat an eye at the news of it. With a sigh, I shook my head at my own thoughts and continued on; my pursuit for disappearing into the night succumbing me.

In the darkness, only the brightest of the fall leaves could be seen. Golden yellows peeked out through the shadows as I drove; the deep maroons and saturated oranges only just vibrant enough to be illuminated by my bright lights as I sped past them.

I glanced around briefly at my environment as it zoomed by my window; nearly everything unrecognizable this late at night. My eyes flickered over to my gas tank as the red arrow hovered over the luminescent ‘F’ which only encouraged me to wander further into the unknown- without a care in the world as to where I ended up.

That’s the beauty of GPS after all, no need to get all worried about getting lost and whatnot. With the simple tap of an icon I could find my way home at any point in my journey, kinda like the whole ‘ruby slipper clause’ in The Wizard of Oz which was total and utter bullshit. But I digress.

The problem was I just didn’t want to. Find my way home that is. Nothing there - besides that weirdly mysterious box of Olga’s - held any interest for me. Not that the world or the universe held much more in retrospect.

Blindly, I continued to take road after road, main roads and back roads alike. I was delightfully lost, a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time overtaking me; the feeling of wonderment. The feeling of adventure. The feeling of following the organ that was aching inside my chest, probably swollen and bulged from all the heartache it had dealt with in the past few months.

So needless to say, it was all I could do to stop myself from screaming when I pulled up to a familiar landmark; one I hadn’t seen since I was nearly a child… a blind and foolish child who didn’t know what kinds of idiocy were in store for her.

It was a bar and grill. Not an extravagant one, that’s for sure, but a small town bar and grill called “Valley of the Hills Mercantile” fondly referred to by locals and radio ads with catchy jingles as “The Merc.”

 

I stared at the rundown sign, my eyes glued to the rust that now decorated the metal letters once brightly painted blue as I recalled in my memory. The gravel parking lot was empty, not a surprise given the time of night, and the neon lights that usually blink with the brightly shining stars were lying dull gray against the window that stared out at me.

I’d spent many times inside that B&G with my poor-excuse-for-a-family. Back before Bob got angry with the church for “demanding his hard earned dollar bills,” Miriam, Olga, him and I used to travel out here to attend mass on Sundays. Granted, everyone hated it, besides Olga of course who played piano and taught Sunday school each week, but besides all that the best part of the whole thing was stopping by the Merc for our after-services-splurging.

They had a pretty average menu. There were burgers, fries, all the usual bar foods that families can order on the rare occasion that THEY show up instead of the usual boozies (though Miriam could fit into that category by herself with ease.) But believe it or not, the two things I remembered the most were the least likely combination of things to remember from any bar, especially some shit hole dive in the middle of practically nowhere.

No, when I think about the Merc, it’s their root beer that stands out to me. Well, their root beer, that is, and their bathrooms.

_“Mommy, daddy, I gotta go potty,” I whined from where I sat in my chair tightly pulled up to the table we were all sitting at._

_Miriam glanced my way while taking a large gulp from her Bloody Mary. “Wh-what was that honey? You uh, you want to play some games up there at the bar, sweetie?” She pointed haphazardly behind herself at the screen flashing various demos of games you could play and I shook my head angrily while squirming in my seat._

_“Potty! I gotta go to the-” I shouted, Bob quick to point his fork at me and, while chewing like the charming human being he was, shouted back to me with a growl in his voice._

_“Oh no, you’re not going ANYWHERE little lady until you finish that Root Beer you just HAD to have.” He nodded towards my frosty glass mug that had been plopped down in front of me at the beginning of our meal. “One cup of that stuff is damn expensive and we don’t just waste money around here.”_

_Olga, immediately to the rescue, smiled his way and picked up her napkin to wipe at her face. “Daddy, I think she has to use the little girl’s room,” she explained calmly, though Bob merely shrugged her off._

_“What? Oh, uh, you’ll go take the girl, won’t you Miriam?”_

_Miriam glanced over at him and blinked blankly. “What did you say, B?”_

_With an elegant wave of her hand, Olga stood up from her chair. “Don’t worry about it, Mommy. I’d be happy to take little Helga to the restroom.” She outstretched her hand to me, though I only used it to help myself off of the chair and scurry around in search for the nearest toilets._

_“Woah, woah, woah there, baby sister!” Olga giggled as she walked up to me and scooped me up from the floor with ease. “You won’t go finding THIS bathroom, silly!”_

_“But I gotta gooooo,” I continued to whine, my poor bladder just about ready to burst._

Realizing I was sitting directly at the intersection to pulling into the Merc and turning to drive to the actual town of Valley in the Hills, I quickly made the turn towards the small town and continued on my merry way; my hand reaching up to absentmindedly play with my lip as I lost myself further to my own memories.

_I looked up at the old-school pop machine staring back at Olga and me. “But… where is the potties?” I asked in wonderment while Olga laughed her annoyingly delicate princess chortle at me._

_“Why, they’re right here, silly willy,” she cooed while pinching my nose gently and wiggling it for me._

_“Pop machine?” I said blankly while inspecting the machine from head to toe._

_“No, no, baby sister. This is a SPECIAL bathroom. It’s hidden behind here, you see?” While holding me in her arms still, she reached out with her free arm and yanked on the side of the machine; the entirety of it swinging open to reveal a hallway leading to the very bathrooms she was so intent were behind there._

_With wide eyes, I allowed Olga to carry me inside; both of us disappearing entirely into the hidden bathrooms unlike any my little 4-year-old imagination could dream up._

I smirked to myself while dropping my hand from my face. It’d been _years_ since I’d been inside that building, the last time being when I was probably only about 8. What with Olga so much older and being out of the house and whatnot by then, the whole experience was kind of worthless at that point.

And hey- why spend money on food for your leftover kid when the important kid is gone anyway, right?

I looked ahead at the small town of Valley in the Hills just coming up into my view. The whole town sat at the top of this huge hill that felt like the first hill of a rollercoaster. The road climbed, and climbed ahead of me; the outstretch of bumpy gravel dark in the night, though the memory of the last time I’d driven this hill climbed itself into my subconscious.

_Lights dotted the road as our processional flashed our hazards from ahead and behind me. I’d opted out of riding with the ‘family,’ as if I was ever even CONSIDERED to be part of THAT nightmare, and took my own car to follow along in single file with the rest of the Olga-fan-club. I stared blankly ahead as I watched the three cars separating me from the limousine which held my distraught parents and the rest of their regrets._

They wouldn’t have had enough room in there for me ANYWAY, _I thought._

_I glanced out my window at the small town’s buildings; a creamery, a bar, a few scattered houses, another bar and finally-_

My eyes traveled ahead to the large white building my subconscious had led me to as I pulled into the parking lot just beside it.

_-a church._

The Our Lady of Lords Church. The very church our family had so many times gone to in my childhood.

Oh, and also where my sister’s final resting place just so happened to be.

Sitting in my car, the quiet hum of the engine egging me on, I stared out at the cement steps leading up to the main entrance of the church. Each step was crumbling at its corners from years of churchgoers clipclopping onto the pavement like the soft padding of horseshoes on cobblestone.

_With tearstained faces they climbed up the steps while donning their fancy dress shoes shined to near perfection. I imagined each of them had spent hours planning their ensembles for this occasion- a sad chance to get together and cry over cheap sweet rolls and less-than-strong coffee out of ‘kegs’ provided by the church._

The sound of their phantom footsteps filled my ears and though nobody was around to make them, I imagined them; countless bodies covered in black as they flocked inside the church for my beloved sister’s funeral. In the shadows of the night I could almost see them manifest and walk inside just like they had on that September day- that September day which just so happened to be the last time I’d been to the church I was still sitting awkwardly in the parking lot of at 1 am in the morning.

Still on some form of autopilot, my arm reached up to gently touch at my keys which were dangling my familiar lanyard with various plastic cards on the keyring; each one’s logo faded from years of being handled and yet hardly ever used. With a flick of my wrist, I turned the key of the ignition back to silence the car; the engine ticking as it settled itself to a stop.

_I sat in my car as the echo of other car doors slammed shut all around me; clouds of black emerging from the minivans and sports cars alike only to follow the crowd into the church like mindless mice, or sheep following a herd over a cliff. I stared at myself in my rear-view mirror; my eyes dragged down by heavy black bags I’d tried hopelessly to cover with concealer._

_“Well, Helga old girl,” I said to my reflection staring tiredly back at me, “you ready for this festival of fools?”_

_I smirked lazily at myself and let out a sigh in an effort to relax some of my tensing neck muscles. Directly, I stared into my own eyes as I looked in the mirror with determination and a stern expression._

_“Today’s the day you’ve been waiting for for, well, practically your entire natural born life. Today, you get to say goodbye to Olga. A GOODBYE, goodbye. Never again will she bug you about smiling more or… or telling embarrassing story after embarrassing story to all of your friends, AND some of your enemies. No more ‘baby sister this’ and ‘baby sister that’ to everyone and their mother when you’re out in public just trying to live your life in peace. No more Olga-isms or Olga crying sessions or ANY of the annoying things she’s always done to outshine you and overshadow you –  YOU – Helga G. Pataki. TODAY is the first day of the rest of your LIFE,” I pep talked to the mirror._

_Tears started to well in my eyes as the lump in my throat grew to nearly the size of a coconut trying to force its way through my esophagus. With a deep breath, I broke eye contact with myself and dropped my head in shame while squeezing my eyes tightly shut._

_“Criminy, you big wuss,” I said to myself through the crack in my voice, “why’d you have to go and start to LIKE her so much ANYWAY?”_

I pursed my lips and confronted my rear-view mirror; my eyes squinting at my reflection before ultimately relaxing with the rest of my expression.

“Helga,” I said to myself just above a whisper, “What are you DOING?”

_The slam of a car door and a familiar laughing old voice snapped my head back up as I looked into my mirror once more._

_Just behind me getting out of their rusted old Packard were Arnold’s parents and his grandfather; his cane in tow. And of course, standing beside them was none other than the football headed boy who I’d fallen in love with so many years ago. He wore a button down black shirt, a tie and black pants to match- though the white of his black converse gave him away._

_He was here. He was here to say goodbye to Olga along with everyone else._

_But above all, I knew what he was REALLY doing here._

_He was here to support_ me.

_My eyes flickered back to my reflection still framed in the mirror. With a deep breath, I nodded my head once to myself and choked out, “Welp. You ready?”_

I stared myself down and dug deep into my blue eyes which tried to penetrate my own soul. My eyes stung as I held onto my reflection, clinging to it as the nerves in my lids begged to fall shut at last. It wasn’t until stars dotted the sides of my peripheral that I finally brought myself to blink; an almost sinister smile greeting me again once my vision had finally cleared.

I nodded at myself, a sort of finality behind my gesture, and I opened my mouth to speak the two words which I never thought I’d say; the answer to the question I’d asked a month ago and only now had the guts to reply to.

“I’m ready.”

 

 


	11. Ten

My soft footsteps were the only sounds as I entered the dimly lit room; candles being the main source of light as they were lit up at the ends of each pew. In its grand display at the front center of the room stood a mass of dusty golden figures and extravagant designs, all leading to a mysterious looking, but stunning golden box. Inside the grandeur of the golden monument was the ever-holy Eucharist.

At least that's what they told us in bible camp every year when Olga volunteered her time and forced me along for the painful ride full of singing and dancing and matching shirts and all the things I hate about big groups with Olga in charge.

Despite my own personal beliefs and all that, even I couldn't deny that the monument was truly gorgeous – pristine if you will. Holy and everything you could hope any church would have as it's shrine or whatever you call it.

And yet, somehow, as I stared up at the statue in its faded gold, it mystified me; all that dust covering such an ornate shrine.  _Why had nobody dusted it? How could something so beautiful get…get so i_ gnored  _so easily?_

It was funny how quiet everything seemed now as I stood alone in the holy space. It wasn't something I was accustomed to; having spent most of my time escaping the gossip of church by hiding out in the chapel here; only to hear their mumbles and the endless notes my sister played until it was at last time to go back home.

I'd had enough of hearing all the ooing and aahing that is the true Olga-Pataki-Experience.

Olga had loved playing piano for the church, which was good considering everyone loved her for doing it. It was our family that tore her from her love of playing for her holy audience; the girl was practically  _devastated_  when we stopped going, the whole ordeal over Bob hating the church for always asking for his money or something.

And sure, Olga certainly TRIED to go on her own time once she had her own car and all, but she claimed it just wasn't the same and eventually stopped going like the rest of us and our heathen ways.

That didn't stop her from playing piano incessantly though. And it didn't help that Mom and Dad encouraged her so damn much to play. Our house became the NEW church- holy with Olga's god-like fingers dancing across the ivory and black keys as easily as she breathed.

I'd always been sort of envious of her for that. That she could play piano so well. The only thing that my parents ever tried to get me to do was ballet- and that wasn't even their idea either… all Olga.

But it would have been nice to play an instrument. I always thought of music as a sort of other language I was never privy to learning as well as Olga had. She spoke it so fluently that it engulfed her each time she played. The notes swarmed her body and swam through her veins with each melody she played. She was one with the language of sounds and it was more than just a show to watch her play.

It was an experience.

Until she lost it all.

" _Olga?" I asked while standing behind her in the living room where she sat on the stool beside our Grand Piano- Olga's most precious possession._

_I watched as she stared at the keys below her in silence as if she'd never even heard me._

_Taking a few hesitant steps towards her, I reached the piano and looked at her curiously while placing a lone hand on top of the perfectly polished piano. "Olga, what are you doing?"_

_She shook her head; a single tear streaming down her sullen cheeks. "It's gone, Helga."_

_Raising a brow, I took another hesitant step toward her. "Your music?" My eyes remained focused on her as I stood nearly frozen in fear at what I knew she was about to tell me. Desperate for any sort of alternate response, I improvised like I'd thought I knew best. "Yeah, well, I'm sure it just got moved-"_

" _No, Helga," she said with a broken voice. She reached up to touch her stubbled head which was wrapped in an elaborately designed scarf and closed her eyes to allow more tears to escape. "The music… its gone. I can't- I can't…I can't remEMber anymore. I'm-I'm SURE I knew how to play. Nearly p-positive I-"_

" _Of course you did," I interjected "You were…you were specTAcular. A-a prodigy, even. They were always calling you that." My face contorted to a small frown as I glanced to the floor where I stood.A-a prodigy, even," It felt like I was shouting the words at her; throwing what she once was right back at her into her face. Dropping my tone to nearly a whisper, I looked down at the empty spot beside her on the bench and murmured, "They were always calling you that."_

_Glancing back up, I stared at her, completely void of knowing anything that would actually help. Clearing my throat, I swallowed hard and looked down at the silent keys while awkwardly taking a seat beside her on the dark varnished piano bench. "You've tried?"_

_She nodded her head slowly, her eyes still closed. Shakily she lifted her trembling hands and gently placed them in position on the piano. After a moment, they began to dance away though it was evident she was afraid of where they'd go. Gradually, they slowed, the music beginning to come to a halt like a music box at the end of its song once the key stopped winding underneath it._

_I watched as her hands played the same note a few more times before she balled her hands into tight fists and dropped them into her lap. "It's pointless, Helga… that's all I can remember."_

" _But if you read the music-"_

" _It's no USE!" She shouted angrily as I sat beside her frozen at her outburst; my eyes locked on a broken sister who'd lost the only ability she truly cared about. "I just STARE at it and my fingers…" she brought her hands upwards with her palms facing her and she sighed in frustration, "they don't know what to do anymore. They don't know which keys to press or how the notes-"_

_She reached out again for the keys and placed her fingers with fear on the ivory before gently pressing down to let loose a sour note that only sent Olga into a frenzy of tears._

" _Oh Helga, what good am I if I can't even play my piano?" she sobbed into her shaking hands and with a forlorn sigh, I reached out to softly touch her back; offering her a circular rub while staring out at the keys that had at last let her down._

" _You're more than that, Olga," I said softly while tensing my jaw in an effort to hide my own confused emotions. "It'll come back to you. You can- you can try again tomorrow or something."_

_But she merely shook her head and continued to cry as I rubbed her back; the two of us like statues in front of the large black piano that now sat silently in the corner of our living room._

She never did try to play again. The music was lost- a phantom of what she had once been and once brought to the world she (for some reason) loved so much. The echoes of her music haunted me like a melody that refused to go away; memories entwining themselves in the notes as they teased me of what once was and never would be again.

Various holy cards surrounded the small altar in front of the Eucharist, along with flowers both faded and fresh; all tokens offered up by previous patrons who'd left them there like pennies at the bottom of a wishing well. As I walked passed the gifts, I bit my lip thinking of just what each one represented to the many who sent out prayers and wishes to an almighty who they believed would answer them.

As if it were that simple; to give a gift and get whatever your heart's desire in return. The whole thing sounded to me like a fairytale or a hyped up version of the Wizard of Oz.

But, despite everything, I can't say I don't believe someone, or even someTHING was out there watching over our sorry asses – be it holy, other-worldly, magically, spiritually, or something even entirely unfathomable. Something had to be out there. There had to be something more to this….LIFE.

Cripes, I'd hope so.

Otherwise, how could all of us sleep at night; constantly wondering of what the nothingness would feel like at the end of our life whenever fate decides it to be.

I HAD to believe there was something up there.

I HAD to believe Olga was still, at least,  _somewhere._

My eyes blinked as I came out of my trance and found myself still staring at the offerings around the sacred space. Silently, I wondered which ones had been answered yet and who was still waiting; if they even still came at all to check up on their prayers and hopes and wildest dreams left here behind by a flower or two?

As if taken aback by the maroon glow just beside all the offerings I'd been gawking at, I led like a moth to the flame towards the small tea lights hidden in red orbs; some lit while others remained dark and waiting for somebody- ANYbody to make a wish or prayer which would then set them ablaze.

Taking great strides, though my eyes were locked on one specific candle on the outside, I smirked to myself while approaching it knowing that the poor vase should really be replaced so the tea light inside could be freed from its broken, yet still affective blood-red tinted prison.

I stared at it, the cacophony of dwindling tea lights (which were only more of that whole offering deal, but for people like me, who come much less prepared), though my eyes found themselves drifting to stare at the cracked vase that stood out among the other dead candles.

" _You see, little sis? You just take these matches, though not until you're older of course," She cooed while messing up my hair a bit; only agitating me further as I tightened my arms which were crossed together. "And once you have it stricken," she pulled one from the pack as it burst into flame which she carefully brought over to the other mass of candles._

" _Now, we're going to close our eyes really tight and think about Grandma Rose, okay?" I sighed and rolled my eyes._

" _That really a necessary part of this?" I asked with blank expression in my tone._

" _Well of course, silly willy. It lets you be one with God and then, once we've thought long and hard, we-" She leaned over and picked a dead candle in the third row of four, "-light the candle in her honor."_

" _But she isn't dead YET," I murmered, though Olga seemed not to notice much or either ignored me completely._

I smirked at the thought.

Had she ever really heard my comments or merely pretended she didn't?

Most of me thought the latter.

_Once she had lit the candle and blew out the match, I glanced her way out the side of my eye. "So now what? That's it?"_

" _Well Helga, that's all we can do."_

" _Light candles? Seriously? I think you need a reevaluation on what 'helping' means, BIG sis." I stated with heavy sarcasm._

_But instead of being met with a sigh or that LOOK of hers that made me feel like smacking that smug smile right off her face, she leaned down on one knee to look me directly in the eyes while taking a light grip of both my biceps. "It's all we can do, Helga."_

" _But-"_

_She shook her head and squeezed my arms lightly. "In times like this, where we have no control, THIS-" she gestured to the candles behind her and I, "-THIS is all we can do."_

" _Light a candle?" I asked while raising my skeptical brow._

" _It's much more than lighting a candle, Helga. It's remembering someone. It's holding onto that memory and those memories for us while we pray. It's-"_

"-so that even while we aren't here….somebody knows there's someone out there who needs prayer" I finished for her though I remained empty in the chapel with just that of the dull glow of memories dancing away in their vases.

I glanced back over to the cracked vase and reached for the book of matches sitting conveniently beside the rows of candles. With a single strike, the wood illuminated in seconds and I picked up the cracked vase to light the brand new and waiting tea light inside.

With a purse of my lips, I took a breath and reached in to light the candle, soon pulling my hand out and shaking out the match as I rested the book of matches back to their designated spot.

Then, with a short closing of my eyes, I remembered Olga; her face and her annoying but bright smile, her blonde hair with her strategic highlights she'd put in much against our parents will last year. I remembered her striking blue eyes with all the concern in the world, no matter the conversation. I imagined everything; every tiny little thing I could possibly think of and then I set the candle back in it's spot.

With the crack, light dribbled out in a jagged line over me and I swallowed back a tear.

Hopefully someone out there sees that as a sign. A sign for hope? For prayer? For memories they'll never know or ever have?

With a blink in an effort to hide the tears quickly arising, I pivoted around to walk back down the aisle to the back of the pews and sighed once I reached the first of the small pews and pivoted once again to face the front of the room once more.

Awkwardly, as I'd always been taught to do (though I'll admit I was a bit rusty), I inhaled deeply through my nose and let it out as my muscles relaxed and I genuflected with a half-hearted sign of the cross. Stumbling about as if looking for kids to sit with in an empty cafeteria, I eyed the pews before making my way towards one in the back; sliding my way into the left-hand pew at the end of the small chapel.

I sat there; something important trying to tell me something though I didn't believe it was God or the Holy Spirit or Divine Intervention.

Or Aliens for you wild dreamers out there.

No, my mind, my  _memories_  were begging for me to listen to them though they were still hidden behind the wall I'd built up to cope with what happened to Olga. Although, as of lately and much against my own will, those walls had begun to loosen their grout and were starting to crumble away; memories trickling in slowly until the ultimate flood could begin.

I shut my eyes softly as I sat on the hard, wooden pew and listened to the silence.

But no matter how hard I tried to hear the note of silence, the sound of nothingness, all I could hear were notes resounding in my head as though they were being played at this very moment in the church just next door to the chapel.

_I hated that I could hear her playing from here._

_I mean, seriously, here I was- minding my own business in the quiet (even though the lady at the front wouldn't stop sobbing and repeating Hail Mary endlessly) -but no matter how far away I try to distance myself from_ Ol _ga and her_ per _fect music, it still had its way of finding me._

_Even in the damn chapel._

I blinked my eyes open once more; surveying the chapel as if something had drastically changed in the few moments that my eyelids had been shut.

_Her notes fluttered through the air like pestering moths and I tried to drown them out as best I could but with little success._

_I pursed my lips and huffed out quietly to myself._ Criminy, why can't she just give it UP already?  _I thought to myself._

And without any offering, gift or legitimate prayer, my silly stupid and juvenile wish came true.

No strings attached.

But it was the thought that I, at one point no matter how 'young' and 'naïve' I was, I wanted to take all that away from her. I wanted to take away the equivalent of my own writing in her piano playing away from her without even needing a bigger reason than that of my 'distaste' for her.

If I could only take that invisible offering back or rip up that imaginary card I'd placed when I made all my stupid wishes against Olga.

I'd take them all back if I could… but you can't take back death. No matter how 'perfect' you are.


	12. Eleven

_Waiting Rooms always fascinated me._

_All they were was a menagerie of worried, tearful people wandering around with glossy eyes and wadded up Kleenexes._

_Waiting Rooms were Worry Rooms; small, confined areas with sobs for music, and memories with hardened laughter for entertainment- not to mention the conventional television on the channel nobody watches unless you’re IN the waiting room._

_The whole thing is a people watcher’s dream. I know I’ve spent hours watching people- and not just Arnold -in plenty of other places; making up lives and reasons why they are here or there, but never in the waiting room. I considered it a hobby even and the few times I’ve been to the hospital regarding Miriam, you kinda get used to the waiting room._

_But it’s all fun and games until you’re THAT family._

_The family of numb survivors while the glue of your family gradually peels away leaving you without even wanting to indulge in ‘people watching.’ The family of people clinging to each other for support though the outcome is futile. The family that grows and grows as people come to see the final moments of a woman connected to tubes and wires of all varieties._

_We were that family._

_But I never was._

_I was too busy watching blindly; my thoughts a complete whirl as I sat in the uncomfortable pleather seat with the ugliest pattern known to man donning it’s furbishing. The scent of disinfectant plagued the air only making me feel sicker as time passed._

_I stood up from my seat as the rest of my family cried together; telling stories of what once was but never again will be Olga- my once never-ending-nightmare-of-a-sister now dying young woman of a cancer eating at her brain faster than the machines can keep up._

_“I’m going to go to her room,” I announced to everyone as their heads slowly turned in my direction which was far away from where most everyone was seated. “Nobody go following me, got it?”_

I stared ahead at the tombstone that merely glared back at me. As if her bright blue spheres could uproot from the ground and look at me, her image was laser-printed onto the headstone in a permanent Pataki smile for anyone to see as they walk by and say to themselves, “She looks like a lovely one. I wonder what could have possibly happened to her…”

It was somehow terrifying for me, however.

In fact, honestly, half of me was waiting for a ‘Carrie’ flashback with her half-rotten hand to shoot up from the earth for revenge or whathave you.

But that could never happen.

Olga was cremated.

  _Bob held onto that urn like it held his entire life fortune inside of it. For the first three days he wouldn’t even let it out of his sight or any of the rest of us to touch his ‘perfect little winner.’ It was as if he had no other daughter or ever had for that matter._

_It made me sick inside to see how he fell completely apart. If I didn’t realize by now that I wasn’t his daughter, this sure would have helped me ‘see the light’ and that’s not even being dramatic. The man was a complete mess, a wreck really, and all the rest of us on the ship of the ever dwindling Patakis meant nothing to Big Bob._

_Miriam, though? She was practically comatose until at least a week in. It was mostly me, by myself, in my room, writing about how indifferent I felt. It wasn’t that I wasn’t sad, because oddly enough I WAS, but more about how everyone else was acting. It baffled me._

_I literally didn’t even exist. Not to anyone but Arnold who tried to message and call me incessantly until he gave up about two weeks in. So by then, I was completely numb and invisible which was juuuuuust about when I moved out and into Phoebe and Gerald’s place._

I bent down to sit cross-legged on the dewy grass and sighed as I felt the chill of the grass’ water soak through my jeans. Around her grave these days were only Bob’s constant flowerage and a few others who seemed to have been really touched by her (or her death depending on how you look at it.)

I fixated my eyes on the engraving of Olga holding one of her trophies with a big smile on her face; it being a picture Big Bob chose of course…needing to have that damned trophy in there so everyone knew she was a winner even though she couldn’t win against the inevitable.

His large bouquet of roses took up much of the space around her grave, but it wasn’t his giant shrine that made me do a double take. It was a small, but good sized bouquet of white lilies; and not the stargazer kind that are supposed to symbolize sympathy or whatever. They were just plain white lilies wrapped neatly together in its packaging and laid gently down to rest on the side of her giant stone.

I stared at them; my eyes burning as I refused to blink. I knew who these were from, I was just shocked to see how fresh they were- perhaps just plucked a day or two ago. They didn’t fit in with the rest of the dying flowers rested up my sister who was also dead.

White lilies…

_“Helga?” A familiar football-headed voice called out for me._

_Instead of uncrossing my arms to politely turn around, I opted to remain still and said without much emotion, “What is it, football-brains? Got some good ole fashioned smarty-pants advice?”_

_“No, Helga, I just wanted to know how you were doing,” he said calmly though with slight fear that I would probably snap at him for talking to me AGAIN after I’d told him to buzz off at the funeral itself._

_I rolled my eyes, “How do you THINK I’m doing, Ar_ nol _do? I’m peachy. Juuuuust peachy.”_

_“Helga…”_

_“WHAT?” I outlashed at him while finally turning around to face him; my shoes squeaking on the wet grass. “You have some ‘great advice,’ I know. You’re GREAT at that, aren’t you, huh? But it wasn’t YOUR sister who died, now was it, Arnold? So riddle me this, just for my sake okay? Exactly what wise words were you planning to spew at me, hmm? It’ll get better? It’ll heal with time? I’m just OH SO curious to hear what you got planning up in that freaky shaped head of yours I mean HONESTLY how did ANYONE give birth to you?!”_

_He stood, silent, his eyes not welling with tears but staring at me in that half-lidded gaze of his, though bloodshot from apparent tears he’d shed during the funeral. His expression remained blank as if a hardened trampoline with no bounce-back. He’d heard FAR worse from me and I’m sure this didn’t even phase him._

_Taking a deep breath, he sighed and said calmly, “I came to pay my respects and apologize for your loss. Olga was really something else.” His words were earnest though I refused to give into that kind gooey inside that laid within me and I pursed my lips._

_I dropped my arms limply to my sides and smirked while standing with Arnold in the middle of the cemetery. “Apologize, huh? Criminy, you really are a sap, aren’t ya football-face?”_

_He glanced at the halo of flowers surrounding Olga’s grave and shook his head. “No, I just came to apologize for your loss, like I said.”_

_I let out half of a laugh and shook my head to myself. “Ahh- my ‘loss,’ huh?”_

_“Helga, you and I both know that you cared for your sister and-“_

_I cut him off sharply like a machete coming down and pointed a lone finger at him angrily. “Listen up, BUCKO. I DON’T care. I DIDN’T care and I WON’T care tomorrow or even next YEAR, okay? And if you haven’t figured that out yet, then you CLEARLY haven’t been listening for practically our entire lives.”_

_I began taking steps towards him with fire in my eyes; refusing to to let loose a single tear or splinter of emotion, other than anger._

_Despite my efforts in scaring him off, he held his stance with each step I took until our faces were mere inches from each other’s face._

_“You care, Helga.”_

_“Ha. I do NOT care.” I responded with a frown and a solitary shake of my head and a tight crossing of my arms._

_“I know you do,” he said in a soft voice; almost hesitantly._

_With a deep sigh, I shook my head and pursed my lips. “Would you just go, okay?”_

_“I can’t,” he said almost smugly with only made me angrier._

_“Oh yeah? And just why not? You want a date with Besty? Or the Avengers, today?” I said while tightly balling up my fists and showing off each one to him._

_Much to my surprise, (as I was too busy feigning anger and getting lost in his emerald eyes) I noticed the most gorgeous bouquet of plain white lilies and I raised a brow. “So, you just came here to add to her halo of roses, huh?” I asked while gesturing with my head towards her headstone._

_Instead of answering, he reached down and laid the fresh lilies onto one of the only empty spaces left next to her tombstone._

_“They’re for—“_

I stared down at her memorial, now donned with flaccid balloons, and faded or dead flowers. How ironic.

 _It’s only been a freakin’ month,_ I thought to myself while half-heartedly dusting off some of the dead grass and the Earth’s natural dust lightly covering her picture which was still staring at me.

With a deep breath, I mustered up something enough inside of me to purge the thoughts I’d been thinking since our last talk.

_I walked into the room filled with beeping and the suction of tubes which helped keep Olga alive in some form or another. With a pull of the curtain, I saw firsthand exactly what I expected. Looking back now. Expected or not, nobody is ever quite ready – especially me -- to see what lay behind that curtain._

_A shell. A forcibly needed shell for the sake of my parents which were off in the cafeteria anyway. She wasn’t a person anymore but rather another trophy; the FINAL trophy in that of the ever-famous Olga Pataki._

_So what’s the point? What’s the purpose of holding her body hostage when there was nothing left inside worth keeping? The doctors had said she was near death and the breathing tubes were that of her own request until she went into a coma a few days prior to this, my final visit._

_I want them to let her go. I want to drop onto my knees and scream to just let her go, my GOD, she’s not even HERE!_

_But my screams are silent and instead of dropping to my knees, I slowly approached the machine of flesh lying on the bed now beside me._

_“Hey there, Olga,” I said despite knowing she was far from this hospital and probably far from her body no less. She was probably up in heaven or what-have you showing off in true Olga Pataki manor._

_Either way, I stayed and took a seat beside her on the pleather chair and let out a deep sigh. “I uh, I just wanted to tell you I was… I was… I was_ wrong _to act how I acted last time I saw you.”_

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Suuuuuuuck. Out. Suuuuuuuck. Out._

_The machines replied to me and I could almost hear her sugary sweet voice coming out of every beep and suction of the ventilator._

It’s okay, baby sister, _she’d say,_ you can always tell me your feelings. That’s what big sissies are for, you silly.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Suuuuuuuck. Out. Suuuuuuuck. Out._

_“I uh, well, you see, I want you to know that I’m-I-I’m sorry for hating you so much.”_

_Beep._

_Suuuuuuuck._

_“And I’m sure you’re just utterly shocked to hear that, but-but it’s true, okay? I used to wish you were gone near every time your name was ever mentioned but-“ I reached out and took her lip, clammy left hand and held it tightly. “But THIS… I never, NEVER imagined this.” My brow scrunched together as I thought for a moment, “I mean, maybe I DID kinda wish for this but it’s not like I actually WANTED it to happen. I didn’t will for it or anything, you know that, right?”_

_`Beep. Beep._

_Suuuuuuuck. Out._

_“Especially not this.” I gestured to the multiple screens behind me showing her vitals which were growing weaker by the minute. “Olga B. Pataki doesn’t deserve this.” With a hard swallow, I continued; my voice wavering only slightly. “Truth is, Olga, I uh… I, well I mean to say, I uh, well, I really do love you. I mean, you’re my SISTER for cripes sake but I guess… I guess I was just always so focused on how much everyone loved you and I just didn’t wanna be part of the ‘Olga Fan Club.’ It’s not the club, or even a little like a club I’d ever want to be in because I always blamed you for how Miriam and Bob treated me.” I scoffed to myself. “As if it was ever YOU’RE fault they despise my existence for whatever reason.”_

_Beep…beep…_

_Suu-suu-suuck. Hold._

_“I know I’m a lot of work and all but I could have been as good as you if anyone would have let me.” I shook my head while looking down sheepishly at my lap; my eyes toggling between my legs and Olga’s jaundiced hand. “I could have lived up to your shadow but nobody even…even let me try. I could have had gifts like you. Been TALENTED like you. I could have lived up to your stupid image if anyone would have had any kind of FAITH in me.”_

_Beep…..bee-beep…._

_Suu-suuuu-HOLD-suuuck._

_“I guess I’m just trying to apologize and uh, let you know that I really do look up to you and-and I love you. You have always been a-a GREAT big sister.”_

_The clammy hand I held onto squeezed mine slightly and with just the smallest of strength._

_That’s when it all happened._

_Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep------_

_I froze, dropping Olga’s hand to her side and immediately taking a step back. “Nurse?! Nurse!!!”_

_It wasn’t long before a woman in white ran into the room to quickly check Olga’s pulse and her breathing before glancing down sadly at her watch to read the time. 9:59 pm it was. I didn’t have to check a clock to know that._

_She then reached over to unplug the machine keeping her with us momentarily on the Earth and then appropriately moved the blanket on Olga so she could rest her hands atop one another as if she was already in a damn coffin._

_“What are you- why- but-“ the words came out a jumbled mess as my feelings swirled inside of me._

_Olga had just died. In front of me. And this nurse was just ready to get her out of the bed without even trying to REVIVE her. For whatever reason, this made me furious and I began to grow angry enough to yell at the nurse._

_“So that’s IT then?! Just that, huh? No use trying, let’s get her out of the bed as soon as possible for the NEXT victim? Huh?!”_

_The nurse turned to look at me calmly and sighed a small sigh before offering a weak smile. “This was Olga’s choice. It’s what she wanted, and I’m so sorry for your loss.”_

_“Sorry for my loss my ass,” I replied instantly before backing up and reiterating, “Sorry it’s just you… how could YOU possibly-POSSIBLY know what it is she wanted, huh?”_

_She frowned before walking toward me to put a lone hand on my shoulder. “Your sister was DNR.”_

_“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I countered back while snatching my shoulder back from her chilled hands._

_“It means that… well, that she was ready to go. She didn’t want to be resuscitated or brought back.”_

_The air escaped my lungs and I stood frozen in the spot the nurse left me in as she left the room in search for the doctor. Once I was able, I took another breath and replied, “Ready or not, why’d she have to go and die on me!?”_

_The nurse went to leave through the door before turning around and saying with a sad smile, “Some say being with someone when they die is the greatest gift a person can receive, you know. To be the last person there before they at last are gone. Try to look at it as that, hun.” She then turned back around and left with my sister now forever frozen in time._

_With all the anger I could muster, I took a deep breath and yelled out after her, “Yeah well it’s a pretty shitty gift if you ask me!” and with one more look at what was once my sister, I turned around and ran out of the room as soon as possible._

_But on my way out, on the shelf, my eyes caught sight of white lilies; plain lilies whiter than the pale room I abandoned, never to come back._

I stared at the white lilies, freshly picked and placed precariously on the side of her grave where they’d been that month ago from one particular football-head.

With a swallow, I ground my teeth and tilted my head back to stare out at the empty sky, overcast with it’s gray enveloping each star and the glow of the moon.

“Why?” I shouted as my hands found their way atop my head and laced together in frustration. “Why am I even HERE? Like, what am I even _doing_ here…?” I asked myself this time before dropping my arms to my sides and faced Olga’s grave face on once more.

“Its not like you can even HEAR me, now can you? You’re gone. You’re GONE.”

I sat myself up on my knees and reached out to grip each side of the polished rock  and screamed at it as if it were her in the flesh; my demons finally finding their way up passed my throat and finally out of my mouth.

“How could just DO that to us, huh?” My voice ricocheted around the empty graveyard like a ball in a pinball machine with only silence to answer my angered heart and trembling hands.

“Do you realize,” I said with a calmer tone, “Do you realize you were the annoying fucking GLUE for our stupid family?”

Shaking my head as if to jumble up my thoughts even more like a string continuously unraveling on the sweater of my life and sanity.

I was unravelling. I was falling apart. Right in front of Olga.

Well, sorta.

But still- there I was, stuck in the graveyard screaming at some fancy stone that didn’t hold anything but more rock and less Olga through and through.

Laying my hands limp in my lap, I sighed and allowed my muscles to finally relax. “Football-face really liked you, you know. Just like everybody else I suppose.”

I reached over to the fresh lilies and picked out a small one and began to twirl the stem between my forefingers’ tips.

“He musta REALLY liked you.” I dropped the flower and shook my head again. “Everyone liked you, Olga and you never even showed it. You were so… humble about everything you did. So honest and earnest about your intentions that as much as I hated you, I couldn’t really HATE you. Some weird freaky part of me inside was actually PROUD of you every once in a while when you’d win a big award that nobody saw coming like the ‘teacher of the year’ from that class in Alaska even though you were the only teacher in the running.”

My eyes drifted down to my lap. “Even _I_ liked you. Secretly of course cause if I told you I’d have to ki-“

I stoped mid-sentence and settled for an exasperated sigh. “That uh, that box you gave me… I think about it a lot. About opening it that is. Just so I can see whatever it is that was so important to wait until you died to open it.

Smirking through puddling tears building up in my eyes, I let out a soft chuckle and closed my eyes tightly shut like a dam preventing the oncoming flood. “You know WHY I won’t open your damn box, Olga?” I asked without waiting for a response.

“I’m scared. Yeah- me, Helga G. Pataki is _scared_ of what her dying sister could possibly leave her ‘baby sister’ in a stupid cardboard box.”

It all seemed so stupid, being afraid of what a box could hold. What could it be, really? A special trophy of hers? Her certificates from graduating? She’d already left me her significant amount of money, what more could she possibly have to give from the grave?

I stood up from the ground and wiped my eyes despite there being little tears prying from my eyes. “It’s just a fucking box, Helga. What are you so afraid of?”

And with that, knowing the real reason I was so scared, I marched myself over to my car with full knowledge of what I was about to do.

I was gonna open that box. And not a thing in the world, not even my stinkin’ fears could stop me.

Not this time. I was opening that box.

 

 


	13. Twelve

The box glared at me as I inspected it upwards and downwards; each side glared at before laying it down gently onto my bed.

 _It doesn't FEEL heavy_  I thought and stared for a moment at Arnold's handwriting in big bold letters:  _ **Helga**_.

" _Helga" Olga said weakly from her bed._

" _Yeah?"_

" _Will you take that box?" She tried to sit herself up and I hooked my arm with hers to help her sit up while I shoved a pillow down her back to help support her back as she lay in the hospital bed."_

" _Well, doi. You want me to have it, don't you?"_

_Olga smiled a weak smile and sighed with trouble, "Oh, Helga… it's meant for after I pass. You know that, don't you?"_

_Taking a step back, I put my hands casually on my hips. "What's so important that I have to have that box anyways?"_

Wait. I sat on my bed and waited as if the box were to sprout a head and speak of its contents, saving me the trouble of opening it altogether.

One like me can't be that lucky.

But even so, there was no use hiding it anyway. There's no use in trying to pretend this stupid box is something scary or something even remotely worth ignoring like some weak something-or-other and let me be the first to say I am NOT weak.

Helga G. Pataki is NOT weak.

 _Especially_  to some BOX.

So with extra care, I reached for my nearest scissors and opened them up to full spread eagle to try and cut the neatly sealed tape open and only to discover I had chosen the dullest scissors known to man. With an exasperated sigh, I tossed the scissors on the floor and instead reached further back for the box cutter I'd 'borrowed' from my last job.

Gripping onto the box cutter tightly, I moved to sit on my bed behind the box pretzel style and stared at it intently.

The box was well used; old and wared from moves to and from college on Olga's part. Almost soggy, on the edges and that it didn't stand at the right angle as it sat on my bed.

"Welp," I said staring at the other box and preparing my hand with the box cutter which was carefully poised at the end of the box's tape. "This had better be worth it to you and me both, Olga."

With a smooth slide of the blade, the tape parted from itself.

Riiiiiiiip.

Slowly, I opened each flap as if I were a child trying to make the most of their last Christmas present.

But it wasn't until I opened the last flap that my eyes widened and I swore my heart stopped for a solid minute. Here I was expecting tokens of Olga's life; things that would only make me hate her more for her perfectionism, the one thing I hated more than anything in Olga regards.

However, I was wrong and I was incredibly surprised to find the exact opposite inside the cardboard box I'd been avoiding for what seemed like years and was only but a month.

I stared into the box full of papers which at the very top of the pile lay a picture I'd never seen before; a picture of Olga holding me in the hospital with the proudest smile on her face. And next to the picture was a pearly white envelope inscribed with "My Dear Baby Sister" in shaky handwriting I'd come to know as Olga's all too well towards the end.

Holding the two together, my hands began to tremble near uncontrollably and it wasn't long until I set down the picture beside me, along with her note beside the box.

And that was when I totally began to lose it.

Tears began to shed and it wasn't long before my tears were flowing down my cheeks as if they were small rivers flowing down a long and pathetic stream.

I brought my arm up to my eyes in hopes I could stop the fast flow of tears with only mild success.

Trying to avoid the letter I knew I'd have to read eventually, I sniffled and reached into the box full of oddly organized papers and various pictures. Altogether, it really was just a mish-mosh of papers and clippings but not of Olga like I had previously and honestly expected.

Yes, they were clippings but not of Olga. No, they were of ME. Times I'd been published for my poetry or other various awards mom and dad never seemed to care about. Yet somehow, here I was, digging through a box full of all the achievements nobody, it seemed at the time, cared about.

Among the clippings lay even more papers; programs from things I'd been in that I'd never thought had been attended to or even remembered. There were programs from choir concerts, my graduation that I thought she or my parents hadn't even come to all mixed together with programs from when I was even younger and did volunteer work and field trips she'd helped chaperoned for. There was even the program from that silly Romeo and Juliet play I'd done in fourth grade- another one I never knew she attended.

And at the very bottom of the box lay numerous pictures; ones I hadn't seen or thought about for ages.

" _C'mon baby sis, let's go get our pictures done in that booth! Doesn't that sound fun, Helga?"_

" _Pictures?" I asked_

" _Well of course!" Olga said with a smile before bending down to reach my 5 year-old height and place a hand gently on both of my small shoulders. "I want to remember this moment with you, Helga, years in the future when we are old and grey, we can look at these and smile knowing they happened. One day, you'll understand. It can be like a tradition! Whattya think?"_

I thumbed through the photostrips one by one- all ten of them until I turned 15 that is and decided I was too good to go anymore; even though it clearly broke Olga's heart.

" _What do you mean?" She asked with tears brimming in her eyes; her hands clasped together tightly in front of her chest as if begging me to go with her on that stupid tradition trip._

" _I MEAN that I'm not going, got it?"_

_Cue the waterworks._

" _It's…it's just tha-tha-that it's a-a tradition…" she stumbled through her words as mascara bean to dribble down her perfect Olga cheeks._

" _Yeah, well… I got plans, okay?"_

Good, good,  _I thought to myself with a small nod in regards to my thinking,_ She'll accept that. Keep it up Helga Ole Girl, you got this.  _I reached over for my coat off the rack and slung it around myself to keep warm in the chill fall air._

" _B-bu-but why? You don't, you don't love your big si-s-sister anymore? It's just… oh Helga…"_

" _Look. Olga. I'm sorry I ruined our little tradition or whatever it is you call it, but I already have plans, alright? You can't be mad at me for that now can you?" I said while putting my hands on my hips._

" _I'm not mad, Helga, I'm… I'm-"_

" _Look, you don't even have to tell me okay? It's just I uh, I have this uh, this THING that I gotta get done-"_

" _Like homework?" She asked while sniffling and wiping her nose slightly as she cried._

" _Yeah-Yeah! Yeah, that's it. Homework. I uh, I got partnered up and gotta go to uh, to A-Arnold's house is all."_

I smirked to myself at the memory. Olga drove me (insistently) to his house and Arnold, being the blessed beautiful weird shaped headed gentlemen, let me sit in his room for at least a couple hours; two hours where he introduced me to his choice music: jazz and acid jazz as of recently.

I looked fondly back to that memory and smiled to myself knowing it was one of the moments in Arnold and mine's complicated relationship where our guards were down and we could just be ourselves.

It became more frustrating when I began to struggle and think of even just  _one_  of those moments with Olga and I furrowed my brow in frustration at being unable to do so. My eyes glanced down to the photostrips I held in my hands and went through each one, one by one; my smile and excitement fading with each picture while Olga's bright smile shone through each one- general excitement glowing from her face. It was as though her joy had never faded, not even once faltering in comparison to my own.

_If only I'd known. If only I'd known THIS is how it was all going to end. Maybe I… I might have been even, maybe, less heartless to her. She tried her best. Clearly more than that according to this box- this box of more reasons to hate Olga for loving me so damned much._

_How could she love me? How could she even care in even the slightest for a sister so uncaring and so calloused and ungrateful._

I stopped my thought process and dropped the programs and pictures I'd been looking through. Hesitantly, I reached over for the letter that gave me goosebumps each time my fingers made contact with it.

Carefully, I unfolded her signature ' _From the Desk of Olga R. Pataki'_ parchment to unveil a letter unlike any I'd ever seen; and in three pages, no less; her glorious and unique cursive lining the pages like art on a canvas 9x11- a true long-lost Olga Pataki relic in my own stinkin' hands.

I stared at the date written in the right-hand corner and frowned at the date.

 _Twenty Sixth of August, 20-_  (the rest was smeared a bit by her fingertip and probably a signature Olga Pataki teardrop, possibly with mascara along with it).

Forcibly, my eyes pressed onward; onto the beginning of whatever it is Olga wanted to tell me from the grave at long, long last.

_My Dearest Baby Sister,_

_Oh God,_ I thought to myself, though continued on to what would be sugary sweet and annoying typical Olga, complete and utter horror at what it is I'm actually reading and somewhat incredibly heartbreaking; three feelings I didn't particularly enjoy feeling in  _general_ \- especially together.

_If you're reading this now, then I'm at last at rest from this absolutely vile disease._

_Guess we're going with dramatics, and obvious points here,_  I thought to myself before telling myself to shut the hell up and continue on.

_Despite it all, you are the reason I chose to die the way I did and, before you get angry and rip up my note in true Helga G. Pataki fashion, please, just for me my little sis, hear me out._

_Hear her out?!_  I screamed in my head.  _Hear her out for blaming ME for how she died!? What the actual hell?_  I gripped at the sides of the letters but kept going to see what she was up to next.

_Helga, I knew I couldn't fight this disease. Stage 4 is a lot of 'What ifs' and 'maybes' and sometimes the prize simply isn't worth it. I am sick. I've lost all my gorgeous long bold, and beautiful blonde locks. I am nearing 100 pounds and at that, look more of a skeleton than a human being locked to a machine so I can live for everyone else but myself. I'm half the woman I once was and you are the only one who can see the horror of what I'm going through. You've been with me of your own free will; helping me with every beck and call I need even when it isn't something as fun as playing word games and more like taking care of your eldest sister of whom you greatly look up to-_

"Pssh," I said aloud out of sheer instinct.  _'Look up to' isn't quite the phrasing I'd use, but alright, Olga. Just this once,_  I said to myself.

- _toss her cookies into the garbage can beside her, then wipe her clean of the blood other such miserable nonsense only cancer can bring. You and Arnold-_

"Arnold," I whispered under a mutter and glanced over at my phone.

_-have been anything but saints to me. Had it not been for the two of you, I may have given up completely and been unable to spend the last few months of my life with those who truly care about me and always have-_

_-even despite our parents who will forever seek the cure of my disease long after I am cremated and at last one with the Earth._

"You got THAT right," I muttered aloud while slowly shaking my head and reading her letter. Big B won't accept she's dead more-or-less the fact that nobody could save her, not even him. He'll never give up looking.

Miriam on the other hand will just get out of treatment and keep searching for the cure at the bottom of her bottle; somewhere she's safe to run to and knows will never hold answers to the questions she seeks.

_No matter the case, however, I shall die soon and when I am long gone and you have finally accepted that fact, you'll be here, reading this and ready to hear what I have needed to say and should have said to you our entire lives._

_Well, shit,_  I thought to myself with a slight smirk,  _she knows me a lot better than I give her credit for._

_I'm sorry._

_Wait, What?!_ My thoughts yelled out after reading the words in her elegant script.

_My sweet baby sister, I am sorry for every acclimation and award you were never noticed for or celebrated for because of me._

_Holy shit… holy…holy…._ I couldn't think of a word as my eyes were glued to the page reading her words like grapes in a bowl; swallowing each one as a new bit of information came to grips with me.

_I've done many great things-_

_Nevermind, then_.

 _-_   _modeling in Milan, Sweden and—of course Paris—cooking with top chefs in Tokyo, backpacking through Europe with a life-acclimating group who referred to themselves as the 'Free Spirits,' and of course all my work with underprivileged children from Africa to Alaska—teaching them math and English along with enlightening their lives with joy and hope—something you'll do for far many more people than I ever could, Helga._

Back to the 'holy's.'

_One thing I've never done is accolade you for your triumphs. Your poetry published in those 7 magazines. Your short stories which were published into your first 'book' though father threw it in the toilet. All of your writing is such poetry like nobody has ever written and that gift of yours, your gift of words is going to take you places I've only wished to go._

_She…she really thinks so?_ I found myself thinking deeply to exactly what Olga was suggesting.

_Perhaps Rome, or Italy. One can't forget the ancient Egypt and, dare I say, the depths of the jungles (though we may have already conquered that together, my sweet sis)_

"Had to bring THAT up, shall we," I said to myself while lightly slapping the letter and then going back to reading fervently onward at the side glimpse of a name I knew was coming up in the note.

_Which brings me to my next subject, one with which I'd always dreamed we'd discuss over hot chocolate and cheesy romance movies while braiding each other's hair and giggling at the mention of your long-term love for a certain boy with the oddly shaped head with the name of Arnold, shall we say._

Firstly- NO. She is right when she says we would never share some hot chocolate and do all those giggle-braiding-disgusting sisterly rituals that make me wanna barf more than I can physically say before doing so. But Arnold? She's bringing up ARNOLD?What ABOUT Arnold?!

_You never had to tell me, sweet sis. You never had to put me in that secret club of people who know you- truly know you. But even while I wasn't allowed in, you've never let anyone in your little club, have you? Not even Phoebe, I'm afraid, knows who the real you is._

Ha. No, I don't let anyone in there.

_But there is someone—_

No there's not.

_-and I'm pretty sure that Arnold is one of the only ones capable of escapade your wall which keeps so, so many out._

_Damn her…._ I thought to myself though I tried to ignore the thought and what she was getting at.

_The real you is worth much more than her weight in gold. When Mummy first had you at the hospital and daddy fought with the doctor about the wrong gender being born according to that 'stupid friggin' old lady up there in the ultrasound booth for cripes sake,' -_

_Oh yeah, sounds like Bob alright,_  I said to myself with a soft chuckle. I could just IMAGINE his furiousness with any nurse telling him he's getting a bouncing baby boy and gets settled with unibrowed little baby me.

_-I was the one to hold you first. And when they asked Mother your name, though she was clearly well under the medications she'd been given for the pain during your birth, it was I who answered when they asked._

_This has to be a lie…_ I told myself though the words on paper disagreed.

_It was I who told them your name._

Oh my god…

_Helga Geraldine Pataki; after Great Granmamma Geraldine whom had just passed away a few weeks before your birth and incredible journey into this world began. I knew when I held you that we would be best friends. Helga and Olga, Olga and Helga, a dynamic duo of sisters ready to take on the world._

_But that never happened for us, did it, Helga?_

I glanced away from the letters for a moment and took a deep breath and controlled swallow before moving on; my lips pursed for more of Olga's wise wisdom from beyond.

_Even so, while holding you, I imagined that as you aged, you and I would become closer than ever. No matter what happened between us from there to now, I still see it and yet there I stood, seeing in you the spark of me, the spark of our siblingship. The spark of a Pataki like there'd never been. It was then, at age 12 that I knew I was holding in my arms somebody who would be great, and already is if you asked me._

I was at a loss for words. My silence pushed me forward; forcing me to keep reading the letter as it neared its end.

_The money I left you, while a lot, is money for memories. I want you to have all the experiences I've had, and more, and be the greatest Pataki the world will ever see and then one day, a young, shy but bright kid in a classroom, will someday will read what magnificent thing you will write one day, and it will be YOU who will be remembered. It will be YOU who will have outstretched even my shadow, Helga which as you know comes with a price._

_You're telling me._ Olga went through a lot to be the 'champion' Bob needed for his trophy case. She went through constant work and constant commands and ridicule to get to where she was. Though she seemed to do it all with so much grace and ease. One of her many 'gifts' I'm sure she'd say.

_You must work, Helga. You must work and work until you make it. You must win over those who will try to defeat you and challenge yourself when you face defeat. You will have to push yourself harder than anyone, even Arnold, can push._

"Why does she keep bringing him up?" I asked myself while turning the pages over as if the answer was on the opposite side from where I'd been searching.

Of course it was right in front of my face.

_Why Arnold, I'm sure you're asking yourself-_

_There it is…_

_-but even if you aren't, you've arrived at the last page of my letter- my last will and testament between sisters if you may._

"Well, here we go," I verbally prepared myself but never could have done so enough for what the next line held for me.

_Honey, Arnold is your person._

"My…my….what?" I asked the papers.

_He cares very deeply for you and I know this as we've had many-a-conversation about it when you were either sleeping or getting groceries or gone from the hospital to pick up all those extra hours at work just so you could pay bills and be with me._

"She noticed…she even- remembers?"

_In fact, it was Arnold who did my bidding which I must apologize to you for as well._

"Oh CRIMINY what did that football-head do for you, Olga!?"

_He brought me your latest poetry volume- the one with only four pages left, was it Volume 27?_

"My volume 32… THAT'S where it went! She better not have-"

_Anyway, I read your writing-_

"Seriously!" I hollered though she couldn't hear even if I wanted her to.

_-and learned more about you than I'd ever known. Your anger at me. Your anger and hatred at our parents for their truly poor parenting and horrendous treatment towards you. Your love for rain and springtime and autumn leaves and Arnold._

_If she could just stop mentioning him that'd be GREAT,_ I thought while reading on with a clenched expression stiff on my face.

_Your poetry was so moving to me, I had him send it off to several publishing companies; a few of which I know personally from different friend circles I've crossed in a collection of funny anecdotes I shan't bother you with-_

_Woman, you better not_ , I thought, though knowing she didn't have enough room for that.

_-but wish I could as I wish you'd been able to know me like I now know you._

My eyes puddled with tears.  _She knew me. She knew me for a split second through my poetry where I bared my entire soul. And if she read everything AND sent it off… then…_  I forced myself on.

_If you dig further into this box- to the very bottom to be precise -there should be seven letters bound for you in a very familiar ribbon I found in the trash one day of your 8_ _th_ _grade year._

_Holy Cripes…_ I said as I began to dig through the box to find my ribbon holding several letters in a perfect bow at the top.

_It was Arnold's Idea to bound these publishing letters with it-_

"Arnold…" I near growled, though I didn't put Olga's letter down for an instant.

_-though I have saved for you, baby sis, the pleasure of opening them yourself and the hopeful surprise that I know has to be in at least one of those envelopes._

I glanced at the small stack of letters and set them carefully onto my lap.

_You will go far, my sweet Helga. I love you, my baby sister with all my heart. No matter what you may ever think or have thought, I've always been in your corner cheering you along, though I wished I'd done a better job of it._

_A better job of it,_ I repeated in my head though for once, I wanted to disagree.

_I hope you know that I'd go back and do it all differently. But alas, some of us don't have enough time in the world to do what they are meant to do so please, Helga, with the money I have given you, achieve your dreams. Travel to everywhere you've ever wanted to go and go to school wherever you desire to go as I know you have the drive and smarts to find any college lucky enough to get you in their walls. Chase your dreams with that money._

_And take Arnold._

"Wha-wha?" I tried through there was no way to force the words any further.

_Yes, Helga. Believe in him as he's always believed in you. Trust me on this, baby sis, even just this once take my advice._

"Oh  _I'll_ do that," I grabbed the letters tightly and grinned slightly. "I'll have a word with the football-head. Now. Tonight.

_Do great things for me, Helga. Do great things for Arnold and most importantly, do great things for you no matter where that takes you._

_I love you, my sweet baby sister. I love you, Helga._

_Yours Always and Forever,_

_Olga R Pataki_

I took the letters with me and the stack neatly wrapped with my own ribbon and reached for my phone dialing his number by pure memory.

"H-he-hello?" He asked, just probably blinking his way out of some stupid football-headed dream.

"Arnold. Get up."

"Helga is-is this you?" He asked and I scoffed while tossing my coat on and holding my phone with my shoulder; my letters and notes still gripped in my hands.

"Yus zats ee," I took the letters out of my mouth and repeated again, "Yea, bucko, it's me. We gotta meet. Now."

"But it's 3 in the morning-"

"NOW Arnoldo, not tomorrow, not in a few hours, NOW."

His side of the phone paused for a moment as the phone rustled with what I assumed was him getting up and moving out of his bed. "And where am I meeting you?"

"Where else numbskull?" I said before sighing and saying with a titch more calmness to my tone. "The tree. Mighty Pete. Remember?"

_I love you, my sweet baby sister. I love you, Helga._

_Yours Always and Forever,_

_Olga R Pataki_

"Mighty Pete," Arnold repeated with what was probably a nod of his stupid head. "Mighty Pete. S-sure. You okay?"

_And take Arnold._

"Peachy. I'll see you in 5," I said before hanging up the phone and making my way out of my house to the only club I knew left that would take me in.

Arnold and Mine's little club. And if that meant going to Mighty Pete at 3am, then I guess that's what that meant.


	14. Thirteen

I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t…anything but somehow I was feeling a feeling I’d never really dealt with before and to be quite honest, the whole thing was terrifying.

It was more like the feeling of angry, anxious butterflies that sort of tasted like sour milk that make you wanna vomit all while giggling like a giddy schoolgirl and jumping up and down for joy. And then mixed in with all that is the complete, firey, red-hot, blood spiking anger with pent up resentment and lost messages all while feeling trapped in a bottle.

It was exhausting.

So when Arnold showed up at Mighty Pete, slightly damp from the eventual full downpour, it was all I could do not to tackle him at the door/entrance entirely in that fit of ragecitement.

Trying to keep my cool, I stood towards the front of the treehouse and offered a fake grin. “Well hiya, football-head, nice of you to join me tonight,” I could feel my body physically shaking; my hands trembling as they lay limp at my sides. My innards felt like they were buzzing about and I considered throwing my hands up altogether and giving up my charade.

But the knowledge of the tied-up publishing letters tucked neatly in my back jeans’ pocket felt extra pressure on me and somehow and I knew I had to play it cool for just a bit longer.

“Is…” he started to ask while looking around as if to see if anyone else had joined our little soiree. “Is everything alright?” He finished while standing directly ahead of me to which I smiled pleasantly before reaching behind myself to pull out the envelopes and throw them at his feet.

“You better have a good explanation, Hair Boy,” I said flatly while crossing my arms.

“Ahh,” he responded instead while reaching down to pick up the letters in his damp hands. “So you finally opened the box, I see.”

“Yeah, well no shit, Sherlock. Good eye. Wouldn’t have caught THAT one without your stellar detective skills, now would ya?” I asked rather hypothetically and crossed my arms across my chest.

Arnold looked at me knowingly and copied my gestures. “Helga…”

“Don’t ‘ _Helga’_ me, Arnoldo.” I said while throwing my arms up exasperatingly into the air. I spun around quickly and then pointed a stern finger his direction. “So what do you have to say for yourself, huh?”

Looking rather surprised, Arnold pursed his lips before thinking through his next moves and deciding with, “I guess I’d just like to know why it is you called me at 3 in the morning to discuss your letters from the publishers.”

“Ha!” I exclaimed while not actually laughing and then began to shake my head vigorously. “No no, no no. No. Though that is a thrilling little point I’d forgotten,” which I really had because what’s time when your entire world is being flipped upside down? “The REAL reason you’re here isn’t just about these letters,” I pointed to the parcels still in his hands. “You recognize the ribbon? THAT ribbon? Don’t you see the scandal of it all? Ringing any BELLS, Arnoldo?”

Arnold smirked and uncrossed his arms; letters still in hand. “Scandal? Seriously?”

Continuing as though he hadn’t said a word, I went on while beginning to pace back and forth. “Not to mention the whole totally going behind my back thing with my now dead sister,” the words came out pointedly but I held my tone and added on with heavy sarcasm, “so thank _you_ very much.”

Arnold merely held eye contact with me and shook his head a few times. “That sister is the one who left _you_ the box, may I remind you, so you’re welcome I guess?” His words were becoming angrier as if to match my tone. “Because, may I remind you, this has nothing to do with me-”

“Nothing to do with,” I interjected before continuing to shake my head and flail my arms about in outward confusion. “This has EVERYTHING to do with you! You knew this whole time what was in there and the letter-“

“Helga, what letter?” Arnold asked, though I ignored him and continued on with my statement; fire fueling me from within.

“-and all those pictures and flyers like why did you have to do that with her and NOT tell me?”

The treehouse grew quiet as soft raindrops began to patter against the wood roof above us; a few dribbles escaping to drip into our safe-haven. I reached up to the bridge of my nose and squeezed it as if the pressure would alleviate not only my ever-growing migraine, but the entire universe I was living in that had been turned and shaken about without a care. The world as I knew it was completely unwound and I felt like the lone knot left in the strings of it all.

With an exhale, loud enough so even _I_ could hear, Arnold finally breathed out the answer to the question I’d forgotten I’d asked. “Because she told me it was ‘of great importance not to tell you or it wouldn’t have the effect it needs on you’ and honestly…” he paused before letting out his grand finale, “I agreed.”

My eyes widened with slight fire and interest. “You…AGREED?!”

“Of course I agreed Helga,” he said as if the answer was obvious, “it was her last dying wish.”

“What,” I asked angrily, “for me to get some stupid box full of junk?”

“You know that stuff isn’t junk, Helga,” Arnold argued though I stood behind my words.

“It’s papers, Arnold. Just papers and photos-“

“Helga,” he said, effectively cutting me off with his short tone, “Look me in the eyes right now and tell me that stuff is junk.”

“Seriously, football-head? You’re going all ‘honesty policy’ on me or somethi-“

Arnold took a step closer to me, his eyes lingering on my own that were scared to death of the sudden contact. “Tell me. In the eyes. Convince me that that stuff,” he gestured behind himself as if it were sitting right there, “is nothing to you and MEANS nothing to you. Her last wishes. TELL me they were nothing, Helga.”

I scrunched my features together and shook my head while breaking eye contact to pace some more. “NO,” I said loudly while shaking slightly and wringing my hands together almost nervously. “No. No, you’re not going to get me to cry. I’m not going to cry.” My mind seemed to stop thinking as I continued to repeat my thoughts and pace around in front of a bemused Arnold. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, you don’t need to cry-“

As always, beating the conscience even in my OWN brain, Arnold spoke up with the advice it would have given me anyway. “But you DO need to cry, Helga,” he said calmly while putting a hand on my shoulder that I considered shaking off of me. “If not now, then _some_ time and why not now?”

“WHY now is my question. Why does it HAVE to be now?” I countered defensively while Arnold remained in place.

“It’s just you and me, Helga. I’m not going to judge you or think different of you or anything if you cried. You don’t have to hold up that stupid barrier from me-“

“Don’t go trying to fix me, Arnold,” I shouted while finally shaking his shoulder off and taking a few steps away from him. “I’m not _broken_.”

“You’re right,” he responded, much to my surprise, “But you’re sad and hurt and need to let down that fake face I know you’re putting up to pretend this was all some dream or something.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, “Some DREAM? More like a NIGHTMARE, Arnold. More like the world’s WORST fucking nightmare.” I wandered to sit on one of the wooden boxes we’d overturned years ago and covered with a blanket as a poor attempt at making a bench. Sitting there, I dropped my head into my hands and sighed deeply. “It’s worse than a nightmare, Arnold.”

“Worse than losing your parents your whole life?” He asked while taking a seat beside me.

“You FOUND your parents Arnold,” I said louder than I’d anticipated while glancing up from my hands to stare at him. “They came BACK to you and your stinkin’ perfect family and Olga… well newsflash, Arnold,” I said without much inflection in my voice, “she’s not coming back.”

“I didn’t know they ever would, Helga,” he said while looking out at the window now overlooking a sea of rain that came down like buckets; though our roof held strongly with only its few drips dropping on us every now and then.

Not like it mattered.

Not like RAIN mattered these days.

“Arnold,” I said inquisitively, “how did you make it so long thinking your parents could be dead?”

He shrugged and stared out the window ahead. “I guess I just never believed in that real possibility. I refused to believe it.”

I turned to face Arnold who met my gaze willingly. “What happens when you refuse to believe somebody is dead when they actually are, then? Tell me THAT, Arnold.”

He shrugged again and leaned back slightly as if adjusting on the uncomfortable ‘bench.’ “Then I suppose you have to fight through that and just accept it.”

“But how do you ‘accept death,’ is my question, Arnold. If you’re so wise and almighty and stuff up in that head of yours, answer my question. How do you just accept death, hmm?”

The question puzzled him though he seemed to have an answer faster than anything I’d come up with. “You know that wherever they are, even if it’s nowhere, that they aren’t in pain anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah, pain. Good for them. But what about us?” I asked with fury in my voice. “What about those of us left behind from yesterday?”

He paused again, this time allowing enough time to really listen to the rain as it beat against our shelter; the soft sound of rumbling thunder approaching in the distance. “I guess,” he started before letting out an exasperated sigh. “I guess we turn to those who can understand our grief and lean on them for support until the hurt goes away.”

“And what if I’m not hurt? What if I’m just…angry.” I stated rather than asked as Arnold scooted closer to me.

“Angry she left us?” He pushed and I finally bended; my body out of ridiculing and lividity for lack of care and motivation.

“Angry she messed up everything. She still somehow managed to ruin my life.” I stated finally while kicking my legs back and forth on the stool as my feet grazed the ground.

“Didn’t she leave you enough money for the rest of your life? And proved to you how much she cared about you?”

I stood up suddenly from the bench and turned around to glare at Arnold. “Money isn’t anything and neither is proving she cared. I don’t NEED her money and I definitely don’t NEED her stupid care because she’s GONE. I need… I need…” I stuttered, afraid to admit what was hiding inside of me for what felt like so long.

“You need what, Helga? I want to help-“

Bitterly, I cut him off. “I need you, okay?”

It took him by surprise as he forced an answer out; surprised at best. “You-you need me?”

“I needed you then and I need you now because, because,” I couldn’t get the words out as tears began to cloud my eyes. “Because, oh criminy, I need _someone_ , Arnold!” I screamed while Arnold shot up from where he was seated to wrap his warm arms around me; almost as warm as the hot, salty tears streaming down my face at rapid speed.

“I’m here, Helga,” Arnold cooed in my ear sending shivers down my spine somehow as I continued to sob into him. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

“But it ISN’T okay,” I tried to say though the words came out muffled in his shoulder. “She’s gone and it isn’t okay,” I tried to pull away but Arnold held onto me tightly, giving me the hug he knew I needed but couldn’t accept.

So without filter, I stood there with Arnold, crying into him as if he were a sponge for all the hurt and frustration I’d felt for over a month now since Olga had been thrust out of my life. He held me for it all; for each and every sob he held onto me as I let it all out in an ugly cry even I’d never known I was capable of.

But eventually we all run out of tears, even those of us who hold onto them for days, weeks, and months at a time. After I was all out of steam, Arnold released his arms from me and pulled back to look at me and tuck a strand of tear-soaked hair behind my ear; offering me a sad smile in return for my hopeless and embarrassing sobs.

Fearful of the contact and slight happiness guiltily flowing through my body, I pulled away from Arnold and wandered to the window overlooking the city covered in heavy rain that was just letting up as if hitting the eye of a storm yet to come.

“I always liked rain,” I said softly while watching the rain skitter across the buildings and slip and slide down each roof into the gutters flowing through the streets. “It was always so calming when I was a kid.”

“Why’s that?” he asked from where he still stood behind me.

“When mom and dad were arguing or Olga was playing piano in her show-offy ‘look at me I’m so perfect’ routine, the rain was always there it seemed; lulling me to inspiration or sleep.” I stared at the torrential pour and sighed while resting my arms on the bottom pane of the window and leaning into the wall with my weight. “Rain reminded me that it can all be washed away; all your problematic seemingly permanent paints of lies and hate could just be washed away with the rain and it was in that that I wrote so many of my poems,” I paused and glanced back behind myself for a second before returning to the rain. “The poems that weren’t about you of course.”

“You say that like I should know,” he responded while taking tentative steps towards me; the boards shifting beneath him with his every weight-shift. “Like I know what it is you write about.”

“Arnold,” I said stiffly, “you know what they’re about.”

“Well, some of them. The obvious ones at least.” He chuckled a raw laugh for a moment. “Not too many oblong-shaped flaxed haired love-gods running around these parts besides myself.”

I rolled my eyes and nearly cringed at his quote of my own poetry. “Cripes, that’s embarrassing.”

Arnold finally made it to just behind me and smirked. “Nah, you’re just far more poetic than I could ever be to express my feelings.”

“Your feelings?” I asked curiously while checking my peripheral vision for his odd-shaped head to peak its way into my view.

“Yes, believe it or not, my kind have those too,” he said sarcastically while finally standing beside me at the window and I turned my head to look at him.

“And just what might those feelings be, smart guy?”

He simply shook his head with a smile. “You know already, Helga. I’ve shown you in the only way I can, even if it isn’t poetry. Not all of us are blessed with your gift.”

“My God,” I said while tilting my head back in frustration. “What is with you and Olga about my ‘gift’ for cripes sake, huh? They’re just words-“

“Words,” Arnold said while cutting me off and putting both hands on my shoulders from behind me, “that can change the world. Words that made your sister understand who you were though never being able to before. Words that made me understand that what we have between us wasn’t just some elementary school thing kids do as a desperate attempt to grow up and understand dating.”

I stood frozen; my gaze locked on the blank slate of rain ahead of me though my nerves were hyper-focused on Arnold’s touch at my shoulders—his heat radiating through me in a way that made my mouth suddenly cotton-dry.

“…ju-just wor-words,” I managed before Arnold continued.

“They were words your sister put all her money on and all her trust and faith in on her last days.” He spun me around to look at him before re-gifting me the publishing letters he’d held onto this whole time; ribbon still bound across each letter with my name on them—Helga Geraldine Pataki.

 _Yikes, he knows my real NAME now,_ I thought but soon pushed it to the side as I slowly untied the pink ribbon I’d worn for most of my life; the ribbon Olga somehow knew I’d regret throwing away when it meant the entire world to me.

My words didn’t tell her that, so how did she know? How COULD she know?

“Open the letters, Helga,” Arnold coaxed while squeezing my hands as I held them in my loose grip. “You know that’s what she wanted.”

I stared below at the letters looking up at me, begging to be opened. Olga had left all of that for me, she’d even said so. Then why couldn’t I open them up? What was stopping me?

“Open them,” he said again while leaning in to kiss me on the cheek and then pressed me into him in a hug unlike the other one he’d given me.

This one, was one straight _from_ him, _for_ him, TO _me_.

With a squeeze of my shoulders, Arnold nodded once and then turned around to leave the treehouse and leave me with my 7 letters, carefully held by my damp and trembling hands.

“Arnold,” I called out as he reached the doorway.

“Yeah?” He asked while looking over his shoulder at me.

“Will you,” I began before swallowing hard and then letting out my thoughts without thinking them through; my eyes shut as if to convince myself I wasn’t saying them from my own lips. “Will you stay here and open them with me?”

A smile spread across his face as he turned back around and headed towards me.

At least this was something I wouldn’t be alone in.

 


	15. Epilogue

_EPILOGUE_

6 MONTHS LATER

"Think about it, there's loads of possibilities in that idea."

"I don't know, Helga. Who would be interested in our lives, anyway?" He asked as he turned the steering wheel with one hand; his other locked with mine between our two seats. "It just doesn't sound like it'll do well as your follow-up novel."

I rolled my eyes and brought my left leg up under my right leg and sighed. "Not as a follow-up novel ya dingbat," I said with a chuckle, "I gotta have more life experience under my belt before anyone would go buying my life-story or my autobiography. You know how it is."

Arnold turned the car into the parking lot and drove around in the bright spring day before finding a spot to park in and then putting the car in the appropriate mode. "And just how is that?"

Unbuckling my seat belt, I gestured with my hand after it parted from Arnold's in an effort to help add to my point. "You know, scandals, love life, my youthful exuberance and future endeavors. I have to knock off a few novels first, ya know."

Arnold reached over to grab my hand and kiss my knuckles with a grin. "Sure, Helga. Whatever you say. You ready?"

" _You ready?" Olga asked while unbuckling her seat belt._

" _Uh, for what, church?" I asked with a raised brow and Olga smiled._

" _No, silly willy, I mean yes, but for afterwards."_

_I shrugged the seatbelt off of me and jumped out of the car, though Olga only followed suit. "And afterwards includes…? Doughnuts and stale coffee? Cheap conversation and cliques that mom and dad DEFINITELY don't fit into?"_

_Olga walked with me as we followed behind our parents to the front of the church with the rest of latecomers wandering into mass our casual 10 minutes late per usual on days that Olga wasn't playing or singing for mass._

" _No, baby sis, so we can say hi to Granmamma Geraldine of course." She held the door open and gestured for me to go first even though I was already headed that way in the first place._

" _And what's the point," I whispered as we entered the holy space, "if she's dead? It's just a stone you're talking to."_

" _It isn't the stone," she whispered back, "it's representative of who she was. And she's there, don't worry."_

" _But I never even MET her!" I stage-whispered back only to be shushed by Big Bob up front._

" _Hey, pipe it down! We're at church, Olga"_

" _It's HELGA dad and I'll pipe down when I –_

"Helga?" Arnold asked again, his eyes watching me as I sat frozen in my seat. "I asked if you were ready"

"Hmm? Oh, oh yeah, I guess so," I said while fumbling to get out of the car and following Arnold passed the church to the metal gate surrounding the cemetery that was the final resting place for plenty of people, not just that of a Pataki or two.

Once we reached the gate, I pulled the hook barring us from the headstones up to open the gate and allow us inside the bumpy land; each spot representing the life of young and old despite inscription or not.

How a single rock could depict someone's life; that little line between the birth and death is an entire life with hundreds of thousands of memories lost like thoughts written on a non-existent page of paper in the notebook of death.

It didn't seem right to be able to fill someone's life with just a tiny line, but alas, once we were at Olga's grave, that was all to remain besides the weekly flowers from Miriam and the daily ones from Big B himself. It was Arnold and mine's monthly routine of seeking out Olga that really had her headstone a step up from the others.

With our tiny broom and dustpan and the help of some shrubbery scissors from Mrs. Vitello, once a month Arnold and I clipped around at the long grass the mowers couldn't get to. We swept up the dead grass stuck in her engraved picture, and we dusted off the cool black Marble that was set to remember my sister for decades to come; no matter the price tag in Bob's universe.

Nothing was too much for Olga.

"So," I said as I finished clipping a few stray strands of grass sticking up at the corners of the bottom of her headstone, "I hate to admit it but you were completely right about the whole publishing thing." I admitted while brushing off some of the dirt that had gathered around her stone. "I just signed the papers for the publishing deal on my first novel-"

"All at 23-" Arnold chimed in and I turned to look at him.

"Technically 24 seeing as the book won't be out until after March, but ANYway," I said with heavy emphasis before returning back to keep brushing dirt off, "that explains why we're here a little earlier than usual. I wanted to let you hear your good news even though you can't really hear it."

My tone dropped and it wasn't long before I felt Arnold's warm hand on my right shoulder giving it a light squeeze. "She can hear you, Helga."

I rolled my eyes remembering the conversation Olga and I had had so many years ago. "You and Olga; I'm telling you, it's like I'm dating my sister."

"That's not creepy at all," Arnold cameback with and I mustered a laugh while shaking my head.

"Seriously. When we'd come here to visit Grandma Geraldine, Olga would always say the same thing. 'Just talk to her, baby sis, like she's right there with you and you'll feel her' she'd always say." I frowned and got up from the grave to brush off my knees of cool dirt and grass stains. "But we've been doing this for nearly a half a year and I STILL don't  _feel_  her. I think that stuff is just a lot of mumbo jumbo along with ghosts and hauntings."

"You don't believe in ghosts?" Arnold asked with a slight smile and I put my hands on my hips with scissors in hand.

"No, sir, I do not." With that I turned around to face Olga's grave once more and look at how clean it looked after we'd tended to it. With all the flowers around it, it looked like a true memorial, although it looked brand new and for some reason that bothered me.

"And not hauntings either, than," Arnold pushed and I stood still, staring at the gravesite for a long while; my head shaking slowly as I pursed my lips.

"No Arnold," I said softly but still confidently. "The only thing that can haunt you are places. Those are the only things that can haunt a person; those memories of the places are what's haunting."

Arnold grew quiet in the cemetery and once again, the lot of the dead was silent and empty-feeling; the same way it always feels when we come here to 'visit.'

" _Say something to Granmamma Geraldine, Helga. She's always listening, you know," Olga said with a sappy, sad, and incredibly somehow-fake-sort-of understanding tone._

" _If she's always listening, isn't that sort of weird? Grandma_ listening  _to us all day long? Criminy, Olga-"_

" _No, no, no, baby sis," Olga interjected, "I'm sure Granmamma knows we are here and comes to listen to us. This is her space, here, in this spot is our grandmother and that's something special."_

" _That she's underneath us under the ground. That's special." I stated rather than asked._

_Olga didn't quite pick up on that though as she responded with a smile, "Exactly. Now what would you like to say?"_

"You got anything you wanna say, Arnoldo?" I asked while putting the sheers in our bag with our miniature broom and other cleaning supplies.

"Just thank you, I suppose," he said with a small crooked smile and I glanced at him in confusion.

"Thank you for what, dying?" I asked and he shook his head once and turned to look at me.

"No Helga," he said, "I'm thanking her for believing in you the way I do but in the ways I never could."

" _Helga?" Olga said from her bed as I sat in her room working on homework from my laptop._

" _What's up?" I asked without looking away and continuing to type away. "Pillow adjusting time already?"_

" _No, no, will you come here?" She asked and after saving my work, I closed my laptop and went over to sit on the edge of Olga's hospital bed so out of place in her elegant room._

" _What's up," I repeated with a more solemn tone, and Olga reached out to shakily grab my hands._

" _You're going to do so much with your life, Helga," she said and I sighed while letting her keep my hand in hers, despite how cold they were._

" _That all, Olga?" I said in a bored tone, though Olga's hands grew tighter on mine with her weak strength._

" _Please know I believe in you, wherever life takes you and with whomever; I believe in you." She said, her eyes welling up before they could spill over._

" _Don't go giving me your 'last words' speech already, okay, Olga?"_

" _But Helga-" she tried, though I was hot to stop her in her tracks._

" _Look, I know what you know and what we all know but can we please, please pretend that isn't what we're talking about right now, okay?" I pleaded; my words coming off more beg-y than I'd have hoped._

_After a long pause, Olga sighed and nodded her head only to let my hand go and rest her own limply on her lap. "A-al-alright, Helga. If-if that's what you want."_

" _Believed in me, huh? And how do you figure?" I asked; intrigued._

"I figure because I know she did and if you opened your eyes and saw Olga for who she was, truly was, you would see that too." Arnold watched me, waiting for my response though I had none.

I was too busy feeling the sun on my face as it peeked through the clouds; a rush of wind swirling by us and tossing my hair about and then around to the back of my head.

_Olga pulled my hair gently towards the back of my head; her fingers grazing my scalp as she did so._

" _Thank you for letting me braid your hair again, Helga. It's been such a long time since I've braided your hair- you have so much now!" She exclaimed while beginning to weave the strands within themselves in a tight braid._

" _Yeah well I suppose that's what happens in 20 years- you get a lot of hair after age 3, ya know." I responded with a smirk._

The breeze continued to push my hair back as if Olga herself were doing it to prepare my hair again for its final braid.

" _Well of course, silly, but you never let me braid your hair before now."_

_I took a moment to listen to the beeping as I sat on her hospital bed and stared ahead at the machines helping to keep Olga alive comfortably. Today was the most energy she'd had in days so when she asked me to braid my hair, what was I going to say, no?_

_I shrugged my shoulders, "What's a braid or two gonna hurt, anyway?"_

I closed my eyes in the sunlight; letting it rain down on me in a way I'd never allowed it to do so before.

It was peaceful. I felt peace.

" _You know, Helga," she said as she rubberbanded my hair into two separate braids, "you really have such beautiful hair."_

"Helga," Arnold said while beginning to make his way away from the grave, "we gotta get going if we're ever going to make it to the party."

I nodded my head, still in my own world and said, "Okay, okay, football-head, I'm coming, you uh- you go on without me. I'll be right along."

Knowing exactly what that meant, Arnold took the cleaning supplies with him and wandered towards the gate that led us into the graveyard roughly forty minutes ago.

Leaving me alone with 'Olga.'

I stared at her headstone, the wind and warmth from the sun somehow cancelling out any chill I could feel from the Spring's sweet breeze.

" _Well thanks, Olga," I said while turning halfway to see her sullen face. "For braiding my hair and stuff."_

" _Thank you for letting me braid your hair. Consider it my way of giving you something back for all you do for me and have done for me since… everything."_

My eyes blinked back tears as the breeze settled and the clouds returned to hover over the sun, blocking its rays from hitting me any longer.

"Thank you," I said to the headstone while swallowing hard. "Thank you for everything, Olga," and with that, I ran over to catch up with Arnold; our fingers lacing perfectly as we left the cemetery where Olga lay at peace.

And where I finally found mine.


End file.
